


your hand in mine

by geralehane



Series: gdau [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, CEO!Lexa, Cheating, Clarke's not an asshole by choice I'm sorry, Coming Out, Dapper Lexa, F/F, Falling In Love, Med Student Clarke, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, artist!Clarke, gdau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 59,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: Clarke's father is put on life support, and becoming Lexa Woods's girlfriend is her last chance at paying his bills. It was supposed to be about money. Insensitive, immoral, impersonal. She was never supposed to fall in love with her.or, gdau on tumblr (short for golddigger au)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> you asked for it, and now it's here. the goddamn Fic That Shall Not Be Named. this shit right here will shatter your heart before it puts it back together again. you're gonna hate me and love me for it, and there's gonna be a little more hate than love and boy i wish i was joking - but take a peek at my tumblr anons and you'll know i'm not. 
> 
> (i might be a little high on pain meds. don't worry, i have to take them, it's for my back.)
> 
> i'm sorry, and remember: this does have a happy ending.

Clarke meets Lexa on a stormy winter night in an empty coffee shop. (Clarke is supposed to meet Lexa at an expensive gala dinner, but life has other ideas, and winter supports them.) She thinks she's never looked worse, with her make up running and her hair wet and her attitude sour. (She looks nothing like she planned.)

(Later,she'll find her plans always collapse in on themselves where Lexa's concerned.)

Lexa is a sharp contrast against horrible snowstorm outside. She's quiet. She's nothing like Clarke imagined. It makes her heart squeeze in her chest, once, painfully and sharply. Lexa's straightened hair is back to its natural curly state because of snow melting on her head, and her green eyes are soft and calm.

Clarke's face is scrubbed raw and clean, and she's loud in her fuming. She's terribly late, and the only person she's attending this gala for is probably long gone by now.

Clarke storms into the coffee shop glaring at people unfortunate enough to be stranded with her, and the only person she was attending the gala for walks inside the coffee shop exactly twenty minutes later.

But. No. She is getting ahead of herself. She wants to start from the very beginning.

As much as she'd like it to, the story doesn't start with Lexa.

 

//

 

Jake Griffin's body looks small on a hospital bed, with tubes attached to him.

“Life support,” Clarke says into the phone as she stares at her father, lying lifeless behind the glass. “They had to put him on life support.”

“Jesus. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come get you, or – what should I do? Is there _anything_ I can do?”

She shrugs, but then remembers Finn can't see her. “No,” she says. “It’s -” she wants to say it’s okay, it’s fine, but, “there isn’t. We wait now.”

“And _hope_ ,” her boyfriend says on the other line, determined but soft. “Mister Griffin is tough. I should know.”

Clarke laughs. The sound is hollow. “He never did like it when you called him Jake. I don’t think he liked you all that much.” She imagines Finn shrugging at her words, hair falling onto his face with the gesture. He’s either in the supply closet or bathroom, hiding from his co-workers to take this call.

“I’ll let him punch me when he wakes up.” Clarke pretends not to notice Finn uses _when_ , and Finn pretends not to notice she uses the past tense when talking about her father. “Then again, he isn’t one for physical violence. Shit - _in a minute!_ ” Clarke winces when Finn yells to someone, too sharp and too loud for her right now. “I’m sorry, babe, I gotta go,” he addresses her again,regretful. “I’ll come over tonight, okay? We will talk and-”

“No.” She clears her throat when she realizes she might have sounded too harsh. “I don’t - I would like to be alone tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.” Finn doesn’t push. He never does. She likes that the most about him, she thinks. “Well, just let me know if… I’m sorry, I really need to go.”

“It’s okay. Miss Woods will have you lynched if you don’t.” she imagines his half-smile, gentle and easy. It doesn’t help the heaviness in the pit of her stomach. “Bye, Finn.”

“Bye. I love you,” he tries. When she doesn’t say anything, he only lets out a small sigh she’s sure he doesn’t realize she’s heard, and hangs up.

She continues to stare at her father.

 

//

 

In the end, she still calls Finn, high on wine and sorrow. He’s at her place five minutes later, almost as if he’s been waiting for her. She doesn’t want to think about it right now. She just wants to feel just a touch less miserable. A little less empty. She wants to feel as though her father will walk in any moment now, full of life and disapproval at her choice in men. As though he’s never slammed his brakes in a desperate attempt to avoid head-on collision with a truck, wheels screeching on black ice. As though-

Finn gets it. He lets her use him because he loves her and because he knows she loves him, too. There’s something in his eyes when she lets him in; like he’s in on a secret Clarke’s not privy to, and that secret is the answer to all of her questions.

He doesn’t wait for her to ask. Instead, he begins the conversation himself, when they lay there, still struggling to catch their breaths, skin cooling down.

“Life support is a lot of money, Clarke,” isn’t the best opening he could have come up with. She feels herself bristle before forcing herself to calm down. Finn means well. He always does. So she doesn’t say anything, instead letting him talk. He continues. “Money that we don’t have.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I know a way, though.” He props his head up on his hand, watching her stare at the ceiling. “You’ll hate it, but it’s a sure one.”

She doesn’t have much time and much of a choice. “What is it?”

Finn takes a deep breath. When Clarke doesn’t react, he slowly releases it. “Miss Woods broke up with her latest girlfriend.” the way he says _girlfriend_ hints at something short of distasteful, and Clarke knows it’s not because Miss Woods is a woman, as well. They’ve spent some time discussing his boss’s conquests this past year, when he got a job as an assistant manager at one of her corporations. Yes, plural. She’s old money. Some of her businesses are inherited, some of it she’s built herself. And so young, too: she’s only a couple of years older than Clarke. She remembers looking her up online when Finn got his job. Strong chin, defined jawline, piercing green eyes, impassive face, impeccable suits. Every bit of an iron business shark her parents were before they passed away, leaving her everything. It was fun to indulge in gossip about her occasionally, Clarke admits; betting on how long the latest conquest would last, how soon she would find the new one, if she’d propose again.

Finn is staring at her, carefully gauging her reaction, but she’s got none. She’s not in the mood for latest piece of Lexa Woods gossip. She’s not in the mood for anything. Suddenly, she wants him to be gone. But Finn clearly has other ideas. When she continues to stare at him, he speaks up again. “She’s single,”he paraphrases. “She’s got a lot of money.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Something clicks, and Clarke can’t hold back her incredulous laughter. “Finn,” she speaks, her voice hoarse. “You can’t be serious.”

“Except I am.” He pretends not to notice she shifts from under his touch when he tries to trace her arm with his fingertips. “I kept track of her girls for a year now. Anything they wish for, she takes care of it. Lucky ones get access to her personal card, and she never checks where the money goes. I swear, when she falls for someone, she falls _hard_.” He takes another breath before finally concluding. “If you were to… If you were her girlfriend, trust me - you wouldn’t have to worry about hospital bills ever again. Plus, she actually owns the hospital. I checked that, too.”

“Yeah, except there’s one tiny issue. I’m straight.” And Lexa is a person, and she doesn’t deserve to have someone play with her heart like that. No matter what kind of a person she might be.

But that’s not what Clarke said out loud. That’s not even what crossed her mind first. If she weren’t straight, would she go for it? Several thousands dollars per day, she remembers. Her mother overcome with grief and a nervous breakdown. Several thousands dollars per day.

But, “I’m not a good actress. Lexa would see right through me. Also, I can’t believe I’m actually humoring you as though it might actually work. There’s no chance in hell, Finn,” she points out. “This isn’t a movie. Someone like Lexa would never fall for someone like me. You’ve seen the girls she takes home. I am literally nothing like them.” Her legs aren’t as long and shapely, and she’s not as tall, and her stomach is soft.

“You are a good liar, though,” Finn replies. He clearly gave it a lot of thought. She can see it in his eyes, alight with excitement and determination. “And you’re giving Miss Woods too much credit. She’s smart. Scary smart. But her girlfriends are her blind spot. Everyone who’s close to her knows it.”

“You’re not close to her.”

“No, I’m just more perceptive than others. She’s lonely. Terribly so. And you - you might actually be perfect for her,” Finn muses out loud. “You’re something fresh. Something new. Exciting. You could be a challenge.” He worries his bottom lip, looking at her from under his bangs, and it reminds her of a kicked puppy. Hurt yet still ready to please and beg for forgiveness and be useful. That’s it. He wants to be useful. He doesn’t know what to do - and there isn’t _anything_ he can do. He simply doesn’t want to accept that.

And Clarke is too tired to deal with his bruised ego, so she continues with this pointless conversation. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. How would I even meet her? She doesn’t exactly go to our usual bar.” But - the fact that she even asks questions already tells her she doesn’t consider it to be completely pointless.

_Several thousands dollars._

When Finn’s face lights up with a smile, she knows she’s just started to dig her own grave. “Clarke,” he says. “I work for her. It’s super easy to find out what events she’ll be attending this month. It’s even easier to get you a ticket. A couple of people owe me favors, and I’m more than willing to cash them in for you.” his kicked puppy look comes back, and she doesn’t want to focus on that. Not now. Truth be told, all she wants is for this day to end.

But- several thousands dollars a day.

She’ll ask herself later what exactly prompted her to answer the way she did. If it was her fatigue or desperation or the combination of both, with a dash of nothing to lose to tip her over the edge. Later, she’ll rehash this over and over again, and, depending on a day, she’ll either hate herself or accept that without this, she wouldn’t have ended up where she had. Either way, what’s done is done, what’s said is said, and the only thing left is to move forward.

In this exact moment, she makes a decision that will determine her future and completely change her life, and there is a tight coiling in her stomach when she says the words. “Okay.”

Finn blinks. “Okay as in _okay, I’m in,_ or _okayI’ve entertained you for long enough, get out?_ ” He looks uncertain, and she gets it. Only a minute ago, she was laughing at his suggestion. But the more she thinks about it,the more she realizes she doesn’t really have anything to lose. If it doesn’twork, she’ll start looking for other options. If it does work, she won’t have to pull the plug on the only person who’s always been there for her. Because she has to face it - she doesn’t have a lot of options. That’s pretty much the only one.

And Lexa Woods is another.

“The first one.” She finally focuses her gaze on Finn’s face, and watches him frown at her empty smile. “I’m in. If she’ll even like me enough to do something about it.” she decides to exaggerate her skepticism, just a little bit. For her own sake. Because it’s scary how strong her newfound hope is, suddenly. She can’t really explain her own train of thought, but it feels like it’s been stuck in a dark tunnel and now there’s blinding light at the end of it.

Lexa owns the goddamn hospital.

Maybe, Finn is an actual fucking genius.

 

//

 

The story doesn't start with Lexa –or maybe it would be better to say the story of her and Lexa starts with a terrible car accident, a life in need of saving, and her own desperation, but not with _them_. Maybe. Or, maybe, she’s wrong, and their story doesn’t truly start until months later, until Clarke’s hand squeezes Lexa’s in her sleep, until blue meets green with desperate hunger never quite felt before. She’s not sure. What she is sure of is the fact that Lexa Woods is nothing like she’s expected.

She hopes she’s nothing like Lexa’s expected, either – but then she realizes it is true in the worst of ways, and her mouth tastes sour.

Maybe, that’s why, when their eyes lock for the very first time, Clarke’s gaze lets go first, drifting to the window and other people and a cup of coffee in front of her. Last chance to back out, she thinks. Stand up and leave and never look back. Find other options – any option but this.

There aren’t any, though. And Lexa Woods is already making her way towards her, eyes serious and green.

She doubts she’ll ever forget the very first words Lexa says to her. “Excuse me,” a soft voice says next to her, and she forces herself to lift her gaze, only to stumble into Lexa’s softly inquiring one. “May I lend you a coat? I couldn’t help but notice you got caught in a blizzard, just like me.” Clarke’s gaze falls down, to the piece of clothing Lexa is offering her, a complete stranger in a random coffee shop. It’s a nice coat. Expensive and warm. Clarke’s own is thin and wet and uncomfortable, but sitting only in her little black dress is ever worse, so she has it over her shoulders, and the dampness isn’t helping her shivering. Must be why Lexa approached her. Well, that, and her cleavage.

Clarke’s eyes catch green ones again. “Exactly,” she says. “Just like you. Don’t you need a coat, too?” inside,she’s screaming at herself. _Just take the coat_ , she fumes. _Let her sit next toyou. Talk to you. Take you home. Don’t sleep with her yet – she needs to be intrigued._

But those steps were carefully planned and rehearsed before the blizzard hit and she was stranded in this coffee shop with Lexa Woods herself to keep her company. She’s thrown off her game. She needs to put her poker face back on before she ruins what might be her only chance.

Lexa smiles at her answer and sits in front of her without asking. She’s confident, Clarke’ll give her that. Borderline cocky, butit suits her, just like her impeccable three-piece. “My body temperature is usually higher than most people’s,” she lets her know before standing up just slightly and draping her coat over Clarke’s shoulders. Warm, just like she thought. What she isn’t prepared for, however, is the intoxicating scent coming from the coat, clean and sharp with a hint of something spicy. Lexa’s scent.Clarke lets it envelop her, and she doesn’t realize she lets out a relieved sigh until she sees Lexa’s smile turn smug.

She struggles against the urge to scowl. “You must think very highly of yourself,” she states, cringing at herself inwardly, but already too far gone to stop herself from royally screwing it up. “I never agreed to your offer, and I certainly didn’t consent to you sitting here.”

Other options it is. This is where Lexa Woods, her one shot, scoffs and stands up, perhaps leaving her coat behind as one last jab. Stands up, leaves, and never comes back.

She almost jumps when she hears a soft laugh instead and sees a small, genuine smile. “My apologies,” Lexa says, and she sounds genuine, too. She stands up, her hands behind her back. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I was – I guess I realized how right you are and how foolish I was. I didn’t mean to intrude. I simply saw you sit here with a damp coat, and youwere the only one who didn’t have a blanket. They don’t have any left, by the way. I checked. I wanted to help,” Lexa offers. “Instead, I was rude and insensitive.” She doesn’t say anything else. It’s so rare – to have someone admit their faults without offering justification immediately after. To have someone admit them so openly and so matter-of-fact.

Clarke certainly didn’t expect Lexa Woods to do something like that.

But – it doesn’t mean anything.

_Several thousands dollars a day._

Just when Lexa turns to leave, Clarke speaks up. “My coat _is_ damp. And I would love it if someone offered me their much nicer and drier one.” Flirting with girls is a lot like flirting with guys, she discovers to her surprise. It comes just as effortlessly and naturally to her, anyway.

When Lexa turns, her small smile growing and her eyes sparkling, Clarke pretends the heavy ache in her stomach is merely her being nervous.

“I’m Clarke.”

“Hello, Clarke. I’m Lexa.”

Lexa’s palm is warm and soft in her own.

 

//

 

Finn is already waiting for her on the couch when she opens the door to her apartment.

“Hey,” he springs to his feet to face her, and she watches his features twist in a confused frown. “New coat?”

Clarke smoothes her hand over the fabric once before shrugging it off and carefully hanging it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“I take it the plan worked.” he follows her to the kitchen, where he watches her put a kettle on. The blizzard has slowed down a while ago, but there are good chances it’ll pick up again at night. And her apartment is much colder than Lexa’s car and Lexa’s coat.

“Not at all,” Clarke replies to him, taking two tea mugs out and setting them on the counter. “I had to improvise.”

Finn’s face brightens with realization. “Wait, is that _Lexa’s_ coat? What happened?”

Clarke tells him everything. Everything he needs to know, anyway, as the mastermind behind all this. She relays facts in a short, clipped manner. _Blizzard - stuck in a coffee shop - with Lexa, can you imagine - we talked - she drove me home - she got my number._

She doesn’t tell him about Lexa’s affinity for Ella Fitzgerald and Monet; doesn’t tell him about the slight blush on Lexa’s cheeks when Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” played softly on the jukebox in a perfect cliche with a storm outside and hot tea mugs in their hands. She doesn’t tell him about Lexa’s encouraging half-smile when Clarke told her she was a med student; or about the tip she’s left for their waiter - more than enough to cover everyone’s meal in that place.

“So she offered her coat to you,” Finn says when she’s done. “Just like that.”

Clarke tries to push down the sudden feeling of agitation. “Yes. That’swhat I said, isn’t it?” She sounds defensive, and she’s surprised to find she feels defensive, as well.

But - Lexa isn’t that bad of a person Finn’s made her out to be.

“Yes,” Finn says. “It’s just - it says a lot about her. How differently she treats people based on whether she wants to fuck them or not, you know?” He shakes his head, amused, not noticing Clarke’s frown. “Wait, she didn’t - she didn’t try anything, did she?”

Clarke snorts. “Does it matter? This time, she didn’t - next time, she will, and I’ll let her. I’m my own pimp, don’t you remember?” She feels exhausted and heavy. But.

Several thousand dollars a day.

Finn’s eyes are pitiful. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “Maybe this was a bad idea. You don’t have to-”

“But I do,” she cuts him off. The kettle whistles, and she takes it off the stove, pouring hot water into mugs.

Her boyfriend takes her silence as a sign of her being upset. “It’s not that bad,” he tries. “She’ll get bored of you after some time. But, by the time she’s done playing with you, you’ll already have everything you need from her. It’s mutually beneficial, really.”

Clarke nods. Finn’s description – Finn’s _idea_ of Lexa doesn’t sit well with her anymore, now that she’s met her, but she pushes the feeling down. Finn knows her. Really knows her. And maybe he’s right. Clarkemet only one version of Lexa Woods – the charming, suave one that has one goal in mind. “Right. That’s why it’s a brilliant idea. And so far, it’s working. She’s intrigued. She’ll call.” _And I’ll go on a date with her. And another. And another. And then I’ll kiss her and let her have sex with me, and it’ll be so good she’ll pay for my dad’s hospital bills._  

This is hysterical in every sense of the word.

 

//

 

Lexa calls the next day at lunch. Her voice is calm and collected, and something inside Clarke shrinks. Lexa’s everything Clarke isn’t.

“Hello, Clarke,”she hears on the other end. “This is Lexa. We met yesterday.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Something about her voice must sound off, and Lexa picks up on it almost immediately. “Is this a bad time?”

Yeah. All of this. But Clarke doesn’t tell her that. Instead, she forces a smile and says: “oh, no, no, it’s definitely a good time. I’m glad you called.”

Lexa’s voice brightens, but so slightly Clarke would’ve missed it if she weren’t looking. “Good. I’m glad I called, too. Do you have any plans tomorrow night?” She really cuts to the chase. Clarke only swallows and closes her eyes, thinking. Last chance. Say no. Change your number.

“I don’t,” she finds herself saying. “Or do I?”

Lexa’s smile is audible in her voice. “Maybe. If you like Russian cuisine.”

“I haven’t tried it.”

“I know. That’s exactly why I chose this new restaurant my friend owns.”

Clarke tries to inject a little bit of flirting into her tone. “Trying something new on a first date? You like to take risks, Miss Woods,” she teases.

“Oh,” Lexa replies, and there’s definitely flirting in her tone. “Is that what it is?”

“If you want it to be.” Great. Now she sounds like a prostitute, too. Certainly has been feeling like one this week.

“Do you?” Lexa is playing along, and Clarke thinks she really, really shouldn’t feel this thrill that shoots through her system, but she can’t help it. She’s straight and wants to use Lexa for money, but – this is Lexa fucking _Woods_ flirting with her over the phone. Her. And _Lexa Woods_. It’s surreal and more than tainted with circumstances, but it’s also the most exciting thing she’s ever done and felt.

So she bites her lower lip and lets out a quiet, shaky breath before giving an answer that seals this. “Yes. I do.”

 

//

 

“Good thing I had a back-up plan.” Clarke really wants to smack the annoyingly pretty smirk off Lexa’s face as the woman pulls out the chair for her. Charming. Annoyingly charming. “Don’t worry. _Borscht_ is not for everyone.”

“You mean it’s not for _anyone_ ,” Clarke mutters, settling into her chair and looking over the pasta menu with a relieved sigh. This, she can work with.

She considered being a good sport at first. Pretend she liked everything, pretend Lexa’s favorite food was her favorite, too. But she realized she couldn’t do it – and she didn’t want to do it, either. She’s already lying about her attraction to the woman. She wants to stay herself in some aspects for the sake of her own sanity. That’s why she didn’t try to hide her grimace upon tasting several dishes, and that’s why they are currently seated in a small Italian restaurant several blocks away from her apartment. It’s quaint and cozy and a love at first sight.

Lexa chuckles, taking off her jacket and carefully hanging it on the back of her chair. Her waistcoat accentuates her slim waist and strong shoulders, and Clarke doesn’t realize she’s staring until she lifts her eyes and finds Lexa’s knowing smirk. “It’s an acquired taste,” she tells Clarke. “You’ll learn to appreciate it. If you want to, of course.”

“I’m not sure,”Clarke replies. “I’m okay with carbonara for now.”

“Excellentchoice,” Lexa smiles, signaling for a waiter. “I suggest a bottle of Cave Yves Cuilleron Syrah to go with it.”

Clarke blinks. “I have no idea what any of those words mean.”

Lexa’s eyes twinkle with adoring amusement, and Clarke thinks she must be doing something right.

 

//

 

The night is warm enough for a walk, and Clarke proposes they take full advantage of it. Lexa looks at her like she’s insane. “The car is right here,” she says. “Gustus will take us anywhere we need to go.”

“Yeah, yeah, old money, I get it,” Clarke teases with no trace of malice in her voice. “But I’m suggesting a walk for the sake of walking. You know. Burning calories. Enjoying fresh air. It’s nice and costs zero dollars.”

Lexa opens her mouth, ready to say something, but then simply laughs, shaking her head. “Right.You’re right. I’d like to take a walk with you.” She signals for Gustus, her driver, to stay put, and Clarke tugs her in a random direction – just like she’s hoped, Lexa’s hand falls in hers, naturally, and doesn’t pull away.

“So,” Lexa starts, swinging their arms a little as they walk. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“I’m pretty sure you know everything there is to know about me after today.” They talked for several hours. Lexa proved to be an excellent listener. It's a dangerous quality - Clarke will have to constantly watch herself around her.

Lexa looks thoughtful for a moment. “No,” she then says, slowly. “I don’t know why your eyes are sad.” Her thumb smoothes the skin on the back of Clarke’s hand, and she has to stop herself from tearing it out of her hold.

“Kind of a heavy topic for the first date, don’t you think?” she tries to joke. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about her father – well, not only that. It’s just that they have a plan. She’ll hide it for a couple of months and then stage a big reveal, complete with tears and _‘you’re more to me than your money’_ and _‘this is my problem to deal with’._ Finn guarantees that’ll get Lexa to open a limitless deposit for Jake Griffin. Clarke is a little skeptical, but she admits it is a good plan.

But right now, Lexa’s green eyes are on her, vibrant and deep. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. But if you ever need someone to listen, I’d like you to know I’m always an option. Even if this,” she gestures between them with her free hand, “doesn’t work out. I’d like to continue getting to know you. You’re… you’re particular, Clarke Griffin.”

She snorts. “Usually, when people say _particular_ , they really mean to say _a cunt_. Oh – sorry. I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

Lexa’s smile grows. “You really don’t have to apologize, Clarke. In fact, don’t hold yourself back. I find it refreshing.”

 _‘You’re something new. Refreshing.’_  Finn’s words ring in her ears, and she shuts her eyes, willing it to go away. Everything is working just the way she needs it to. She should be happy.

“Okay, but remember– you brought this on yourself,” she says out loud, hoping Lexa doesn’t notice her smile is forced. When she squeezes her hand, she knows she doesn’t.

When they reach Clarke’s apartment building, she doesn’t invite Lexa in, and Lexa doesn’t push. Instead, she kisses Clarke’s cheek, hitting her senses with her smell, already familiar and just as pleasant as before. “Goodnight, Clarke,” she tells her warmly. “I had a great time tonight.”

“Me too.” It’s true – she had fun when she weren’t busy having an internal moral struggle. Lexa’s easy and interesting to talk to, and, despite coming from two vastly different social circles, they still manage to find some common ground. “We should do it again some time.”

Lexa smirks. “Usually when people say that, they mean to tell you to fuck off.”

Clarke tries to gasp at that, but it’s hard to do that through laughter that bubbles in her throat. “Wow,” she manages through chuckles. “I’ve changed you.”

“I have a feeling you’ll do it again,” Lexa says. Her gaze grows heavy, but not with a threat –with excitement. Something pleasantly dark. “And I can’t wait.”

Clarke has trouble falling asleep that night, and when she does, her sleep is fitful and void of any dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some flarke (finn/clarke) at the end, so be warned. 
> 
> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
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> enjoy your read!

_I had a great time last night. L_.’

  
“Oh my god, you're banging Liam.”

  
“You really need to rethink your whole relationship if you have that little trust in him,” Clarke fires back easily, grabbing the card out of Octavia's hands and reading it again.

  
_‘I had a great time last night_.’ Somehow, she's absolutely sure Lexa didn't even think of the dual meaning when she neatly signed what looks to be outrageously expensive piece of paper and put it in the bouquet, the size of which was toeing the line between charming and obnoxious. Clarke squints at it, holds it up with one hand, barely hiding an amused smile. Lilies. The only flowers she's sure she isn't allergic to, as she's told Lexa yesterday.

  
_So she's the type to remember things. Interesting._

  
“Yeah, and O,” Raven pipes up from where she's lounging on Clarke's couch, “Liam was with you last night. The entire night. I know because we're roommates with really thin walls. Can I start looking for another apartment please?”

  
“Besides,” Clarke says again, eyes still on the card. “I have a boyfriend.”

  
“Ah, yes,” says Octavia, plopping next to Raven onto the couch and eyeing Clarke. “The one and only _Linn Lollins_ , the love of your life.”

  
“Last name was a little excessive.”

  
Octavia shrugs. “You get the point.”

  
Clarke puts the bouquet down on the coffee table carefully, and then sighs, turning to face her best friends since high school. Raven Reyes and Octavia Blake, always up to no good, always in pair. Clarke wasn't always the part of the trio. She remembers Raven punching her in the face back in school - with perfectly good reasons, but it still hurt like a bitch. She remembers Octavia hating her guts freshman year - a feeling that intensified when her older brother went through ‘a Clarke Griffin stage’, as Raven put it. She must have done something right when she turned him down, at least in Octavia's eyes, since they've become tentative friends after that.

  
Not that she would've accepted Bellamy Blake’s advances if Octavia wasn't there. She was barely seventeen, and he was well over twenty four.

  
Now, she's almost twenty four herself. Time’s a funny thing.

  
“So you finally dumping that dude?” Raven asks Clarke.

_  
I had a great time last night._

_  
Would you have had a great time knowing why I was there in the first place?_

  
“I,” Clarke rubs a hand down her face, smooths it over the scrubs she's still wearing. She's only in her second year of med school, so technically it's a little early for hospital shifts, but her mother helped her pick up a few. She sighs. “It's complicated.”

  
Raven and Octavia immediately get their faces to express well-practiced sympathy. She thinks it's unnecessary. They all know she's the only one out of the three who's ever liked Finn enough to talk to him, let alone date him.

  
The reason she sighs is not because she's actually contemplating her relationship with Finn - it's because she was supposed to be telling her friends all about their fake break-up, but Lexa's bouquet messed everything up and she slipped and said the wrong thing.

  
According to their plan - Finn’s and hers - she actually doesn't have a boyfriend anymore. It makes sense. Perfect sense.

  
She had to go and complicate everything further.

  
“She's just a friend,” Clarke says, and it takes tremendous effort not to slap her own forehead as soon as the words are out of her mouth. This is not going according to plan at all.

  
“She.”

  
“She?!”

  
Clarke takes in Raven's excited smirk and Octavia's shocked face. "Yes." She swallows a painful lump down her throat before continuing. "Her name is Lexa."

  
Raven blinks. "Lexa. Like Lexa Woods?"

  
The moment of truth, Clarke thinks. She gives a slow nod, sitting down next to a gaping Octavia. "Actually. Exactly like Lexa Woods." When her friends continue to blink at her, she sighs and runs her hand through her hair. "It's that Lexa Woods."

  
Raven's smirk grows smaller. "Finn works for her," she says to no one in particular.

  
"Yes."

  
"And she's sending you flowers."

  
"I'm not - this is not what you think." Clarke tears her gaze away from Raven, and it falls to the lilies, still beautiful even when carelessly tossed on the table. "I'm not cheating on Finn."

  
"Not if she's just a friend, you're not," Octavia speaks up, her eyes back to her normal size.

  
Clarke really backed herself in a corner with this one. "I'm not sure she's just a friend."

  
"But you just said-"

  
"I know what I said, Raven," she snaps and immediately regrets her tone. It's not Rae's fault. It's not anyone's fault, really. "I'm sorry, I... Finn and I are on a break."

  
Her friends only glance at each other. The tiny spark of glee running between them doesn't escape her. She doesn't think she particularly cares. "Wait," Octavia says. " _Ross and Rachel_ break, or _break_ break?"

  
"I went on a date with Lexa," Clarke chooses to say instead. Staying on the topic of Finn is uncomfortable. It gnaws at her, somewhere between her chest and her stomach, carving out a tiny bleeding hole not quite in her heart, but under it, close to it. So she switches to something she knows her friends won't resist jumping on. "It was nice."

  
"But," says Octavia, "she's a girl." At Raven's pointed stare, she shakes her head. "I don't mean it's bad or anything, but - Clarke's straight."

  
"Sexuality is fluid," Raven speaks before Clarke gets a chance to. There's an undercurrent of agitated impatience running through her voice, like they've been over it with Octavia already, and she's tired of saying the same thing over and over again. "There's also compulsive heterosexuality most bi people struggle with. Most people, period."

  
Clarke can feel the color drain from her face. "I'm not - I don't think I'm ready for any labels yet, Rae." She's really not. She never anticipated how scary having her identity questioned could be, but it's not only that. She'll have to fake coming out. She's already on her way there, with Octavia giving her a shocked stare and Raven smiling encouragingly. She's going through it when she has absolutely no right.

  
She feels sick.

  
"It's cool, Clarke. Figuring yourself out can be scary, but we're here for you, okay?" Raven gives Octavia what she hopes to be an inconspicuous nudge, and the girl shakes her head once again, her jet-black Blake hair falling on her eyes. "Right," she says. "I'm sorry for being this shocked, it's just - you were always so into guys. I mean. And guys are really into you. You went through them like crazy-"

  
"Octavia."

  
Clarke is immensely grateful for Raven's presence.

  
"Right. Sorry. We support you, one hundred percent. Whatever you might be." Clarke watches Octavia wet her lips, still very clearly astonished. "But - it's Lexa Woods."

  
"Yup." The conversation has barely started, but Clarke is already exhausted.

  
"She's Finn's boss, isn't she?" Raven poses her previous statement as a question everyone knows an answer to. Clarke also knows - can practically feel on her fingertips - what Raven isn't saying out loud. Complications and things bound to get messy.

  
"Yeah." She doesn't give them anything more than that. Let them ask, she thinks.

  
And so they do. "Clarke, you know I'm behind you and your explorations of your sexuality," Raven begins, "but we really need the full story. What - I mean, how? We all heard Finn's stories. She really doesn't like him. Are you like, her trophy or something?"

  
"Aren't all of her girlfriends trophies?" Octavia adds helpfully. They both study Clarke, eager for details, for an explanation she doesn't quite feel she owes them. Irritation prickles at her skin, shoots through her spine up to her shoulders, and she shivers with a slight grimace.

  
"No," she says, and her defensive tone is a surprise to everyone in the room. "I don't know about her girlfriends - actually, I don't know much about her. We know her through Finn's stories and I think we can all agree it's not a completely reliable source."

  
Her friends nod at that, but the apprehension is still there. She can read it on their faces, and her irritation only grows. "Look," she says, letting out a heavy breath to calm herself down. "it's not like I'm getting married to her." Hopefully. "It was just one date. And she has no idea I'm dating one of her employees. We met last Friday. By chance. She asked for my number. It was my decision to give it to her. So this isn't her personal vendetta against Finn or whatever else you guys might think." This is me being a horrible human being to save the person I love the most in this entire fucking world.

  
"Okay," Raven is the first to sense Clarke shouldn't be pushed right now. "You're right, we don't know her. We were being stupid. Right?" She asks O, who nods. "It's great that you're getting out there. Meeting new people and, uh, mingling." Once again, Clarke knows what Raven isn't voicing.

  
We're glad you're moving on from losing your father. Because, to them, to the world, to her own mother, Jake Griffin is as good as dead. They don't have money for treatment; they barely have enough money for him to stay on life support this month. And then - but Clarke doesn't want to think about then.

  
Lexa had a great time last night.

  
"Good," she says. "Because I'm seeing her again."

  
If her friends have anything else to add, they decide to keep it to themselves.

 

//

 

She calls Lexa two days later. It's either highly courteous or highly diabolical of Lexa - letting her make the next move. She gracefully passed the ball to her court with a gentle kiss pressed to her cheek and a whispered goodnight. Clarke still doesn't know if this freedom of choice is artificial, but it’s not like she actually has a choice, either, is it?

  
(It’s not like Lexa knows about it, though.)

  
“So,” she says when the phone is answered after three long, calculated rings. “You really don’t take risks, do you?”

  
Lexa chuckles on the other end. The sound, deep and pleasant, stirs something up in Clarke’s belly. Not arousal - not quite, at least, she doesn’t think so. But - it’s pointless to deny Lexa is attractive. Infuriatingly so. She’s attractive in everything she does.

  
There is just something to her, and, as much as Clarke doesn’t want to dwell on it, she also can’t ignore it.

  
(Is her charm as artificial as Clarke’s freedom of choice?)

  
“There is risk, and then there is recklessness,” Lexa says, jarring Clarke from her thoughts. “If I sent you anything other than lilies, you could have had an allergic reaction. Doesn’t really make someone want to have the second date, now does it?”

  
Clarke feels her eyebrows go up teasingly, even though Lexa can’t see her. That’s another thing about this whole… thing. Banter comes excitingly - terrifyingly - easy. Naturally. She doesn’t know what to make of it.

  
For now, she just goes with it. All according to plan, she tells herself. “Pretty sure of yourself, are we?”

  
She can practically feel Lexa’s smugness through the phone. “Maybe.”

  
Clarke suddenly wants to rattle her. She hates arrogant people. Except - that’s the fucking thing, she thinks bitterly. Lexa isn’t arrogant. She’s quietly confident. It seeps through her pores, manifests itself in everything she does and says. She’s got nothing to prove. It’s already proven.

  
Lexa Woods is the top dog, and it’s a goddamn fact.

  
She still wants to shake her up, just a little bit. “I could be calling to tell you to get lost, you know.” It comes out teasingly, not harsh enough, not sharp enough, and Clarke curses inwardly, biting her tongue. Goddamn you, Woods.

  
(She hates that she’s genuinely having fun talking to this woman. It makes her plan all the more awful. It makes her all the more awful.)

  
(Several thousand dollars a day.)

  
“Are you? Calling me to get lost?”

  
She’s silent just a second too long before, “no. I’m - thank you. For the flowers.”

  
“While there’s obviously a practical reason for my choice,” Lexa says, and Clarke can hear a smile in her voice, “I also tried to find the most beautiful ones.” Clarke wonders if she’s itching to add a corny ‘like you’. Or ‘for you’. To her relief, she doesn’t.

  
“Well,” Clarke starts, dramatically. “I mean. You tried.”

  
Lexa’s laughter is unexpectedly melodic. “My best, too. Just so you know. Appreciate it.”

  
“Yeah, well. I’ll try.”

  
She hears her laughter again. “No promises, right?”

  
What a simple phrase - but it’s like a punch to her stomach and she can’t breathe.

 

“Right,” she chokes out, hoping Lexa doesn’t hear the slight hitch.

  
(These emotional rollercoasters she’s been on lately are getting real old real fast.)

  
_Just breeze through it._ “What are you doing Friday night?”

  
She imagines Lexa raising an eyebrow at that. “Straight to the point.”

  
“That's me,” she says and cringes at her unintentional pun. Lexa makes everything worse.

  
“Hopefully not.”

  
_Someone shoot me_. “ _Obviously_ not. So,” she hurries to change the topic of her sexuality they somehow ended up with. “Friday night?”

  
“I’m assuming I already have plans that you made for me.”

  
“That Yale education didn't go to waste, I see.”

  
Lexa's smirk is palpable in her voice. Her suddenly purring, low voice. “Obviously not.”

  
“I'll pick you up at 10,” Clarke says, refusing to gulp. “Let Gustus go. Oh, and - wear something… not nice.”

  
“Not nice,” Lexa repeats, incredulous. “I'm afraid I require a definition that's a little more detailed. How not nice are we talking, exactly?”

  
“Think of something you'd wear to an important business dinner,” Clarke says. “Wear the exact opposite.” She's flying by the seat of her pants here, but a plan is coming along as she speaks. Lexa, a bar, and tequila. A lot of tequila. She has to make this woman fall in love with her. And everyone claims to be in love with Clarke Griffin the party animal.

  
That, and she thinks she needs their second date to be a little more drunk and a little less personal. She can't afford to not see Lexa at all - time is running out - but she can make it so she doesn't have to talk to her much.

  
If they talk too much, she might slip up, and Lexa is dangerously smart. But - no one is too smart when Clarke's wearing a low cut top.

  
Lexa, a bar, and tequila. Perfect.

  
“Okay,” Lexa says slowly. Almost lazily. “Not nice. Are you taking me someplace bad, Miss Griffin?”

  
Clarke thinks it would be appropriate to smirk right now. She doesn't. “The worst.”

  
//

  
This is the worst idea she's ever had.

  
Lexa's wearing black skinny jeans and a soft-feeling-hard-looking black leather jacket over a black v-neck. She's the furthest thing from nice, that's for sure. Even her soft lips and soft eyes don't help balance it out.

  
She looks dangerous. It's exhilarating.

  
She looks dangerous and bad in the best way, and her breath is hot on Clarke's neck.

  
This is the best idea she's ever had.

  
It's not arousal. It's not. It's just - she hasn't seen Finn since the night she met Lexa, and she hasn't had enough time to tend to her needs herself, and Lexa is objectively attractive. Objectively.

  
Lexa is also drunk.

  
And Clarke is fucking wasted.

  
“I don't,” Lexa whispers against her neck, “I do not want to make the wrong impression, Clarke.” Even in her inebriated state, she doesn't slur her words. Clarke kinda hates it. How put together she remains even after an hour of pounding shot after shot and grinding against each other in a less than appropriate manner.

  
“You - you, uh,” Clarke stammers, “you got me pinned - _fuck_ \- in a dingy alley - I'm pretty sure there is no such thing as the wrong impression anymore.” She doesn't think she's making a lot of sense. She doesn't think she cares.

  
Clarke just wanted to get some fresh air. That's it. She's still not sure what prompted her to grab Lexa's hand and drag her outside with her. They stumbled through the backdoor, into the small alley, and Clarke narrowly escaped crashing to the ground. Well. With Lexa's help. She caught her around the waist and tugged her back, propping her up against the wall so she wouldn't slide down. Hence the pinning and Lexa's breath on her neck and soft lips brushing her skin just barely enough to seem like they aren't there at all.

  
So maybe it is arousal. Okay, fine - she's horny. It happens when she's this wasted, and - she's never experimented, but apparently gender doesn't matter when she's like this. Drunk and just a little lost and aching for a touch.

  
Lexa's touching her all over, with her body pressed to hers, but it's not enough. She knows nothing will be enough until she's filled and stretched and aching for an entirely different reason.

  
Fuck. “Fuck,” she voices her thoughts, rather straightforward. “Lexa.”

  
Lexa's still breathing on her neck. She's frozen in place; Clarke thinks if she tilts her head down just slightly, a little to the right, her lips will find Lexa's pouting ones. She wonders if it'll feel any different. Than a guy. Wonders if Lexa's fingers will be enough for her - she's enough far gone for her thoughts to venture into that territory. She wonders if Lexa will be fast, slow, rough, gentle. If she'll be able to tell Clarke's never been with a woman before. If she'll huff in frustration and quickly get her off before kicking her out of her bed and finishing the job herself.

  
(That's way too detailed and way too anxious for a second date.)

  
She's not sure, but she thinks she feels the tiniest kiss being pressed to her jugular before Lexa pulls away, keeping her arms around Clarke, but putting some distance between their bodies. “This is not something you want,” she says, and Clarke's mind clears, fast and scared.

  
How did she-

-oh, but how wrong she is-

  
“I… What?” She manages to croak out, her fingers still clutching the the nice leather of Lexa's jacket. “What?”

  
“We're drunk, Clarke,” Lexa whispers. She can smell whiskey on her breath, can smell smoke on her jacket, her expensive perfume, subtle and masculine. How is she so -- why is she so--

  
“We're drunk,” Lexa repeats. “It's our third date.”

 

“Second,” Clarke corrects, automatically.

  
Lexa shakes her head, and Clarke watches her curls fall down her face, shoulders. Pretty. “No. Coffee shop. First time.”

  
She scoffs, alcohol adding sharpness to it. “That wasn't a date.”

  
“We are not having sex tonight,” Lexa chooses to say in reply, and Clarke almost chokes on her tongue. There is a feeling that comes crushing down on her, and she doesn't know if it's relief or disappointment or both.

  
“Okay,” she says meekly, because what else is she supposed to say? “Thank you.” Well. Not that, obviously. “I… I'm not sure if I can - if I want… I think I'm scared.”

  
What the actual fuck, Clarke?! she thinks loudly at herself, but it's in defeat rather than surprise. Drunk Clarke gets frank. That's something she conveniently forgot about when she took Lexa to a bar.

  
Lexa doesn't struggle with focusing her eyes. Clarke's a little afraid she might be less drunk than she's letting on. Lexa's too calculated to lose her control like that. “Are you scared of me?” She asks, leaning in. Clarke doesn't know if it's meant to console or intimidate.

  
She shakes her head. “No,” she says, surprised to realize it's true. She's not scared of Lexa. Maybe she should be. But she's not. Not when Lexa's looking at her like that, with her eyes vibrant green and too tender for someone who's only known her for two weeks.

  
Lexa's hand trembles when she reaches up to touch Clarke's cheek, and suddenly Clarke thinks fuck it. “I've never done this before.” The silence that follows is - it's not deafening. It's not silence at all. It's full of city sounds and their breathing, ragged and loud.

  
“You mean,” Lexa shakes her head, sloppily, and her hand falls back to her side. “You've never - you've never done what, exactly?”

  
“With a girl. A woman.” Clarke is horrified at each word that comes out of her mouth, but it's like she can't stop it. She has to get it out. To get the truth out, at least some of it, at least partially, however mangled and twisted it might be. “I've never - I'm not really sure who I am anymore,” she admits. Lexa's gaze is sharp. Too sharp for someone who's supposedly drunk.

  
Yet, there's no trace of judgment. “Am I experimentation?” She asks. Her tone - God, she might as well be asking about the weather.

  
“No,” Clarke says. Lies. Well - she's not lying. Lexa isn't an experimentation. It's a little worse than that.

  
Just like that, Lexa accepts her answer. “Okay,” she says easily. “Then we are definitely not having sex tonight.”

  
That's it?

  
“That's it?”

  
Lexa chuckles. It's a little sloppier, a little higher than her usual timbre. “What were you expecting?”

  
She doesn't know. “I don't know.”

  
Lexa takes a small step back, helping Clarke stand upright with a careful hand under her elbow. “You know we're too drunk to be having this conversation right now.” It's not a question, but it's not her dictating, either. It's stating a fact. A fact Clarke completely agrees with.

  
“Yes.” She shivers when the wind blows, only now realizing how chilly it is and how underdressed she is in jeans and a top. Lexa places a jacket around her shoulders before she can protest.

  
It smells like her. She wouldn't go as far as to say it's soothing, but it is familiar and pleasant. “We should probably get home, right.”

  
“Right.” Lexa smiles. “Good thing I never let Gustus go.”

  
“Lexa.” Clarke frowns. “It's past midnight. On a Friday.”

  
“Clarke.” Lexa says, her eyes sparkling with silent laughter. “I'm joking. I do that sometimes. Admittedly, rarely. No one will ever believe you. You have no proof.”

  
Clarke really tries, but she can't hold her laughter in, and it spills, loud and strong.

  
“You're in Forbes lists,” she says. “You're in Forbes lists and you own half the fucking companies in this country. Do you realize that? Right now, standing in a dirty alley with a girl who won't have sex with you?”

  
“I'm the one who won't have sex with the girl,” Lexa points out. She's still smiling, but it softens now, fades into something that's barely there, but infinitely more valuable.

  
“Tonight,” Clarke points another thing out and watches Lexa's eyes darken ever so slightly.

  
“Tonight. Yes.” Lexa clears her throat. “I also don't own ‘half the fucking companies’ in this country. I hardly own a quarter.” She says it like it's not a big deal. Like it’s nothing. Perhaps, to her, it isn't.

  
Or, perhaps, Lexa measures things and their importance differently, and Clarke can't see it yet.

  
“Hardly,” she scoffs at Lexa's words drunkenly. “Okay. Let's get out of here before I start finding you annoying.”

  
“And how do you find me now, then? I'm just curious.”

  
Clarke squints. “Almost annoying.”

  
She makes Lexa laugh for an umpteen time that night. “Perfect.”

 

  
//

 

3  
“And what happened next?”

  
Clarke closes her eyes, licks her lips. Turns her head to look at Finn, barely covered with a thin sheet. “We split a cab. She let me pay for my half of the ride.”

  
Finn scoffs. “What a gentlewoman.”

  
“She kind of is, yes.” She watches him blink and briefly lock his jaw before forcing himself to relax.

  
“I don't know if you made the right thing coming clean about this,” he says. His hair falls on his eyes when he rolls over and props his head on his hand, and he brushes it away impatiently with his other hand, looking down at Clarke.

  
She shakes her head at him. “That was the only sensible decision I've made this week,” she says. “Lexa's smart and experienced. She would've immediately known I've never been with a woman before.”

  
Finn shrugs. “Yeah, or - or that you're just bad in bed.”

  
“Please.” She smirks, and it's hollow. “I can't be bad in bed. Not even hypothetically.”

  
“Oh, I know,” he drawls, his fingers lazily playing with the sheet covering Clarke's bare chest. “But - Lexa doesn't.”

  
“It was the right thing to say,” she presses on. “For several reasons. One,” her hand slowly reaches up to his face, one finger lazily tracing his jaw, “I'm even more of a challenge to her now. Two,” that same finger travels south, to his chest, and she watches him watch it with a slow smirk forming on his lips. “She won't expect sex from me - or, she won't expect me to be good at it. And three…” now, her hand stops at his flat stomach, pressing against it briefly before venturing lower. She watches his mouth fall open when she reaches her destination, dragging her nails across hardening flesh. “Now, I control the situation. Entirely. Absolutely.”

  
“Genius,” he breathes before he rolls them over and presses a demanding kiss to her mouth, and she welcomes it.

  
She just wants to forget - or, rather, doesn’t want to think about the fact that she wanted Lexa last night. She honest to God wanted her. Wanted her on her lips, in her bed, on her, in her - God. That’s something she should probably deal with. Later, yes. But she’ll have to.

  
But will she? She was drunk. Both of them were. She was curious - it’s only natural. Better that than getting through the inevitable night with Lexa with her teeth gritted and her eyes shut.

  
Anyway. Finn doesn't need to know her slip-up wasn't planned. He doesn't need to know it wasn't her idea to begin with. He doesn't need to know it was Lexa's stare and Lexa's quiet softness that made her crack.

  
She thinks she'd be happy to un-know it, but she can't. It's her cross to bear. So she kisses her boyfriend and lets her mind go blank.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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“We will need to make a decision soon.” Abigail Griffin is not looking at anyone when she says that, not even at her husband lying before her. The words are uttered to the impassive white wall. Clarke gets it. White walls don’t care. White walls won’t scowl and cry and throw accusations.

  
  


She gets it. But she’s still mad. “Could you at least look at me when you talk about killing my father?”

  
  


“And my husband,” her mother states immediately, coldly, her eyes finally finding Clarke’s.There used to be something in them, when it all happened. Now, it’s all gone. Replaced by sheer exhaustion and logic. She’s right, Clarke knows that. She’s being practical. She’s thinking about the living, not about the dying.

  
  


But the dying is the only person Clarke gives a damn about right now, so she’s not going to back down, either. She just needs a little more time. Just a little more time to get Lexa to cover their bills, and then they can think treatment and for how long they want to prolong the process; and if they do choose to limit the life support, they’ll do so on their own terms. They’ll do it because it’s the right thing to do. Not because they are forced to pull the plug or they’ll be left with an insane amount of debt that Clarke’s kids will have to continue to pay. Maybe grandkids, too. Who knows.

  
  


This is messed up. “Clarke,” her mother tries. “I know how… He is the love of my life, and I am about to lose him. Just like you are about to lose your father. But that’s the thing, honey. We may have already lost him. Until the results are back-”

  
  


“But they are not back yet.” Clarke really tries to keep the bite out of her tone, but it proves to be really fucking difficult. Her mom is talking about ending her dad’s life before they fully know what’s going on. “They are not back, and you’re ready to let him die. He’s still being evaluated. What if the results come back, and there is a chance?”

  
  


Her mother sighs, dragging a hand down her weary face. “You and I both know it’s not much of a possibility. We’re doctors. The facts are there. His organs are slowly shutting down, Clarke, and you need to face it. Whatever the cause is… I am almost sure it’s not treatable. And even if it is, reviving him back is a process that’s not possible.”

  
  


Logical. Precise. Her mother, the doctor, cutting through condolences and feelings and getting right to it. Your dad is as good as dead. Deal with it.

  
  


Well, Clarke doesn’t want to. “We’re doctors,” she throws her mother’s words back at her. “We wait until the evaluations are done to make a conclusion, because we know how important it is to base it on facts and not assumptions. What you’re doing right now - this is not a doctor treating a patient.” She swallows, blinks her tears away. “This is you giving up on him.”

  
  


“Clarke-”

  
  


“I can’t.” she shakes her head, backing away to the door. “Not - I can’t do this right now. I have to go.”

  
  


“Clarke!” her mother calls out, but she’s already out of the door.

  
  


She thinks the image is forever etched across her eyelids: her broken father covered with a white sheet, unmoving, and her broken mother sitting next to him, her scrubs neatly pressed and her face twisted with sorrow.

  
  


//

  
  


She ignores the calls. Her friends’ names flash on the screen, one after another, ready to console and comfort and pity.

  
  


She doesn’t want any of it. Just today, she doesn’t want to be the daughter of a dying man. Doesn’t want her mind reeling from trying to come up with ideas and options and simply reasons not to break down. She just wants to be Clarke.

  
  


Lexa doesn’t call. She texts. Clarke appreciates it. Texts give her time to think; to consider whether she wants to reply, to invite the person into her bubble.

  
  


And Lexa - Lexa’s the only person who doesn’t know about her father.

  
  


The decision is made fast. Lexa picks up on the third ring. “Hello,” she says, and Clarke can hear a smile in her voice. So she’s glad she’s called. Good. Great.

Everything is going great. “Hi,” she murmurs. “I’d love to have lunch with you.”

  
  


//

  
  


She turns her phone off when Finn’s name pops up for the fifth time in a row. It’s ridiculous and a little reckless, but she doesn’t care right now. She just wants it all to stop.

  
  


Maybe, she wants to be ridiculous and a little reckless tonight.

  
  


(Maybe, tonight is Lexa’s lucky night, after all.)

  
  


Lexa’s sitting across the small table and smiling at her over the rim of her cup. She traded her usual suit in for jeans since it’s Sunday. Paired with a pale blue button up, they still look unfairly good on her. Clarke doubts she looks half as good in her white blazer and white skirt. “So how was your day?”

  
  


“You’re not going to mention your texts that I didn’t reply to?”

  
  


Lexa’s half-smile grows just a touch bigger. “Whether you reply or not is completely up to you,” she says. “Since it’s none of my business, I don’t see why I would mention it.”

  
  


Clarke quirks one eyebrow at that, taking a careful sip of her coffee. “Interesting approach. What if something happened to me?”

  
  


“It didn’t.”

  
  


“What if it did?” She doesn’t know why she’s pressing. The wise thing to do would be to let this go - but she never claimed to be particularly wise.

  
  


The corners of Lexa’s lips quirk up. “Would you  _ like  _ me to mention my texts?”

  
  


“No, that’s not what I mean, it’s just -- you’re kind... of aloof, you know that?”

  
  


Lexa lets out a laughing breath. “I’ve been told. However,” she leans back in her chair, eyes trained on Clarke’s face, “if something were to happen to you, no amount of missed texts and calls would have changed that. Those who worryingly call you every other minute are not doing it for you. They are doing it for themselves. To have something to do, or to seem like they are doing something.”

  
  


Clarke’s eyes are locked with green, and there is this confusing coiling in the pit of her stomach again that she ignores. “And what would you do? Call once every day to ease your mind?”

  
  


Green grows unreadable. and Clarke doesn’t know why, but it sends a chill down her spine. She’s not sure it’s a good one. “I am lucky enough to have some resources,” Lexa says lowly. It could be simply Clarke’s hearing playing tricks, but she thinks that maybe, just maybe, there is something dangerous sizzling around the edges of Lexa’s voice. “I would have given you a reasonable amount of time before finding you to make sure everything is okay.”

  
  


“So you would stalk me.”

  
  


“Well,” Lexa says then, taking a small sip and clearly enjoying her coffee’s taste. “Anything to ease my worrying mind.”

  
  


Clarke snorts. “Right. And what amount of time do you deem reasonable?”

  
  


“Let’s just say you called me right on time and leave it at that.” Lexa’s eyes are the kind of green that sparkles even in the dark, Clarke suddenly thinks.

  
  


(The predator kind - it lures you in and next thing you know, you’re alone with them devouring you whole.)

  
  


She blinks, willing the thought away. “Okay, but just so you know, I’m changing my locks.”

  
  


Lexa laughs, and the tension clears, as suddenly as it appeared. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, but just in case I was out of line - you are not in any danger, at least not from me. Want to make it clear.”

  
  


_ Wish I could say the same, Lexa. _

  
  


//

  
  


They spend the day together, and it’s as nice as it is unexpected. The park they make their way to after lunch is hauntingly beautiful, as Lexa puts it: bare trees and dark soil, with snow covering patches of it.

  
  


Clarke finds it curious that Lexa has so much free time on her hands. When she voices her thoughts, Lexa laughs.

  
  


“You sound like Anya.”

  
  


“Anya?”

  
  


“My adviser. She doesn’t understand how I have any time to even breathe, either. I used to work day and night back in a day. Now, I don’t work on weekends, and I try my hardest not stay in the office past nine, at least.”

  
  


Now Clarke is really curious. “And what happened between now and back in a day?”

  
  


Lexa shrugs. “Life.” She doesn’t elaborate, and Clarke doesn’t push.

  
  


“Same,” she says, and Lexa simply looks at her curiously before starting a new topic of conversation. She asks Clarke about her studies and her shifts and tells her funny stories about her employees.

  
  


“Those who don’t work closely with me are scared of me, I’m pretty sure,” she tells her. When Clarke asks why, she shrugs. “Probably because some of those who do work closely with me aren’t being very kind behind my back.”

  
  


Clarke thinks of her boyfriend and bites the inside of her cheek. “And why is that?”

  
  


Lexa smirks. There is is again, this silver of Lexa the CEO flashing through her eyes, her face, her entire stance. “Mostly because these people are not very good at their jobs, and I do not shy away from letting them know that.” Once upon a time, Clarke couldn’t imagine it any other way. But now, after spending time with her - after sharing lunch and drunken dancing and after almost kissing her - now, she has trouble picturing Lexa yelling at people. Not for the first time, Clarke marvels at how much softer Lexa is without the title of a CEO weighing her down. And, admittedly, she only ever knows Lexa the Commander by Finn’s stories. How accurate are they?

  
  


_ These people are not very good at their jobs, _ Clarke recalls Lexa say. “Why don’t you simply fire them?” she asks what she thinks is a logical question. But Lexa laughs.

  
  


“They might not be very good, but they are solid. Average. A company, an organization needs people like that. It’s not possible to only have winners. Besides,” she shrugs, spotting a bench and gesturing for Clarke to sit before sitting next to her. “They don’t like me personally. Professionally, everyone realizes I am good. Some would even say great,” she winks at Clarke, and she can’t help but laugh. Lexa Woods giving her a goofy wink. Never in a million years she would’ve thought she’d end up here.

  
  


“And you know what they say,” Lexa continues. “Having a common enemy really does help people grow close.”

  
  


“Now that’s just a bunch of bullshit,” Clarke scoffs.

  
  


Lexa grins. “Okay, you got me there. But everything else I said is true. I don’t need to be liked. I need to be respected. For this,” she taps her right temple with a finger. “Everything else doesn’t matter.”

  
  


Clarke doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until after she already has Lexa’s hand in hers, rubbing soothing circles on the back of it. “I like you,” she says. It just feels natural. The moment called for it, she decides. “You’re alright, I guess.”

  
  


“Thank you,” Lexa laughs, unaware that Clarke’s not sure whether or not her last statement is actually serious. “I think we better get inside,” she says then, glancing at the darkening sky. “It’s getting colder.”

  
  


“Not a coffee shop, please. I can’t drink anymore coffee,” Clarke groans, letting go of Lexa’s hand and rubbing her head. “But inside does sound good.” She rubs her hands together next. Even with gloves on, she still feels the chill of upcoming winter. She looks at Lexa and catches her staring with something in her eyes that she can’t quite catch before it’s gone. “I should probably go home,” she says. “But I really don’t want to.”

  
  


_ We have to make a decision soon. _ She has a deadline now. What an appropriate word.

  
  


Lexa’s hesitation is visible on her face when she says her next words. “Can I interest you in a nightcap, then?” At Clarke’s slow grin and a raised eyebrow, she hurries to explain. “I don’t mean - we won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I just want to have one drink with you.”

  
  


“In your apartment,” Clarke clarifies, eyebrow still raised teasingly. Lexa nods, apprehension clear in her expression.

  
  


“It’s warm there. And, like I said-- ”

  
  


“Lexa,” Clarke interrupts, smiling what she hopes is a warm smile. “I’d love to have a drink. One drink.”

  
  


“One drink,” Lexa repeats, holding her gaze.

  
  


//

  
  


Lexa’s apartment is less enormous than Clarke’s imagined. It’s comfortably spacious, warm, and it has an actual fucking fireplace that they sit in front of, the couch cozy and soft, discussing wine and how you either like it or not, labels and ratings be damned.

  
  


They are on their second glass of wine - red, because they want to warm up - when Clarke kisses her. She really needs to stop drinking alcohol around Lexa. And Lexa really needs to change her perfume, because this one is way too good and it messes with Clarke’s ability to think.

  
  


It’s probably because it’s traditionally masculine. That’s it. Lexa’s a good kisser who smells like a man and so it’s easy to lose herself in her. Didn’t Finn use to wear something similar?

  
  


(She knows she’s lying to herself, but it’s comforting, so she lets it envelop her as she slowly slides her lips against Lexa’s.)

  
  


Wow. She doesn’t know what she expected - she quickly tells herself she didn’t have any expectations - but, wow. Her lips are so, so soft.

  
  


She’s so, so gentle.

  
  


Clarke vaguely hears the sound of a wine glass being set on a wooden table - she put her own down before assaulting Lexa’s lips. Next, Lexa carefully takes her face in her hands, smoothing thumbs over her cheeks and angling for a deeper kiss. Her tongue swipes across her lower lip, silently seeking entrance, and Clarke doesn’t even think when she opens her mouth, letting Lexa slide her tongue in.

  
  


Usually, when tongues are involved, everything immediately grows hot and heavy and fast. That’s what Clarke is used to, anyway; but not Lexa, apparently. She flicks her tongue over the roof of her mouth, drags it against hers, fast enough for it not to feel gross, but slow enough for it to be sexy. And sexy it is. There is a fire burning in Clarke’s lower belly every time Lexa gently meets her tongue with her own; a fire that only grows when Lexa’s hands slide down her neck, her shoulders, circling her waist.

She’s not thinking about anything when she pushes at Lexa’s chest and swings a leg over her hips, straddling her. She doesn’t think about anything but Lexa, and that would scare the shit out of her if her mind wasn’t currently blank.

  
  
  


She’s not thinking about her father and her mother and her boyfriend. That’s bad. That’s dangerous. That’s something she was wholly unprepared for due to a simple fact that Lexa’s a woman and she can’t affect her like that.

  
  


But she does.

  
  


Either that’s some insanely good wine, or Clarke has some reconsideration to do.

But for now, she straddles Lexa and tilts her head back, leaving open-mouthed kisses on her slender neck, not caring if she leaves an occasional love bite. Judging by Lexa’s moan low in her throat, she doesn’t particularly care, either. She feels suddenly hungry. It hits her, just like the first time she met Lexa, just like two nights ago outside of the club, and now she can finally put a finger on it, put a name to something she couldn’t - wouldn’t - before.

  
  


Lexa Woods is sexy as hell.

  
  


The thought brings forth a moan that surprises her, but it’s too late to stop it now that it’s out.

  
  


“Fuck,” Lexa mumbles underneath her, hands growing greedy, impatient. Her lips find Clarke’s pulse point, sucking on it both gently and hungry, making the room spin. Or maybe it’s her head that’s spinning from so many things happening at once - someone’s hands on her body, someone’s lips on her skin, someone’s hips between her legs.

  
  


Someone who’s not her boyfriend. Someone who’s not even a  _ boy _ . It might be a silly train of thought, but it doesn’t make it any less scary.

  
  


Is she about to have sex with her? Her as in  _ her _ , as in--

  
  


“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice is quiet, but it still shakes Clarke out of her thoughts, almost violently. She comes to it, realizing Lexa’s hands have long stilled, simply holding onto her sides now. She looks up from her shoulder, and green eyes meet hers, studying her carefully. “It’s okay. It’s okay to want to slow down.”

  
  


“I’m--” she chokes on air, releases a shaky breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “How did you…”

  
  


“You’re trembling,” Lexa lets her know in a soothing voice.

  
  


It’s cold. With a fireplace crackling behind her and Lexa’s warm body under her, it’s still cold.

  
  


Maybe she’s not as ready as she’s thought. Maybe, it’s not as easy as they envisioned, Finn and her. “I… I’m sorry,” she offers lamely, sliding from Lexa’s lap and settling next to her, putting some distance between them. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

  
  


“Good God, Clarke,” Lexa exhales, rubbing her forehead as if in pain. “Don’t you ever say something like that to me again.” She closes her eyes briefly before turning to look at her, eyes careful but soft. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she finishes quietly. “Okay?”

  
  


“Okay,” Clarke chokes out. The room is suddenly small, too small, too tiny to have any air in. She’s silently suffocating under Lexa’s steady gaze. Lexa, who, between softly uttered words and phrases left unspoken lets her know she gets it without even knowing the half of it. Maybe that’s what helps her actually see Clarke - her judgment isn’t clouded with horrible truth.

  
  


There’s no pity, no tearful sorrow, no attempt at sympathizing. There is only understanding, quiet and solid, just like Lexa herself.

  
  


“I’m at this point in my life where nothing makes sense,” she finds herself saying. “You’re just unfortunate enough to have met me when I’m such a mess.”

  
  


_ You’re just unfortunate enough to have met me. _

  
  


“Nothing ever made sense for me, Clarke,” Lexa whispers. “But somehow - I know I just met you, but somehow, you do.” What a line - but Clarke doesn’t care.

  
  


Sometimes, when people are at their lowest, a simple silver of selfless kindness, be it a gesture or a word, can be enough.

  
  


Clarke crumbles. She breaks down with so many things tearing at her chest - relief being a prominent one, but with what, she’s not sure. But there’s also fear and grief and the whole fucking world on her shoulders, and she finally caves under its weight.

Lexa’s here to pick up the pieces. She’s silent when she gathers her in her arms, silent when she feels her shake and sob against her shoulder. Only once Clarke lets the most of it out, does she speak up.

  
  


“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. I understand if you don’t want to talk at all. Trust me, I do.” Something in her voice makes Clarke look up and meet her gaze with her own. Lexa’s a little blurry, and she wipes at her eyes. She probably looks like a drowned raccoon right now, she thinks, with mascara, no doubt, running down her cheeks. But Lexa doesn’t bring it up. “More than anything else. But - should you ever want to. I’m here. It’s easier with strangers, and I imagine that out of all people, I’m one to you.”

  
  


“I don’t shove my tongue down any stranger’s throat, you know,” Clarke points out. Her voice is a sharp contrast against the playfulness of her words - shaky and fragile. About to shatter any second.

  
  


“I’m your special stranger, then,” Lexa chuckles.

  
  


“My dad is dying.”

  
  


Fuck.

  
  


The silence that follows is stunned on Lexa’s end and horrified on Clarke’s.

  
  


She’s never drinking wine again.


	4. Chapter 4

“ _ Clarke, please call me back. The hospital, they - I have no idea why or how it happened, but…The results are back. Your father will be a part of an experimental treatment program. I’ll explain everything later, but they need my signature, and I can’t sign anything without you. I won’t. Please call me back. _ ” Her mother’s voice trembles at the last word with everything she wants to say but can’t - or won’t - over the phone.

  
  


Clarke listens to the voicemail again, eyes squeezed shut, a deep frown on her face.

An experimental treatment program.

  
  


_ “My father devoted his life to medicine,” Lexa told her a few days ago, her hand reassuringly heavy on her own. “My grandfather forced him to become a business major. He did. Then, he graduated, inherited the business, and invested ninety percent of the money in hospitals and pharmaceutical companies.” _

  
  


_ “He wanted to be a doctor?” Clarke asked her, watching green eyes grow hazy with distant memories. _

  
  


_ “Yes. He was fascinated by medicine. I’m afraid, however, that his interest was purely pragmatic.” She remembers Lexa look down on her hands, mulling something over. “My father was a cold man. Perhaps, it is a good thing he never became a doctor. I imagine he’d have terrible bedside manner.” _

  
  


_ “Why are you telling me this?” _

  
  


_ “We are opening an experimental treatment program to honor his memory.” _

  
  


She dials Lexa’s number before a plan’s completely formed in her head. Things got way out of hand. She needs to get some of the control back.

  
  


She just needs to tailor the previous plan to the current situation.

  
  


Lexa picks up on the second ring. “Hello, Clarke.”

  
  


“I think you know why I’m calling.”

  
  


“I do.” She hears shuffling on Lexa’s end and some quick murmurs before Lexa speaks again. “I need to apologize for making a decision for you.”

  
  


Does she? It feels like she does. Just like always, with Lexa, Clarke feels so many things at once, and she doesn’t quite know how to handle them.

  
  


This is the messiest relationship she’s ever had, and it’s not even a real one. God - it’s not even a  _ relationship  _ yet. “Lexa,” she starts carefully. “This is the most generous thing anyone’s ever done for me. But I’m not - I’m not sure if I can accept this.”

  
  


“I had to make a final decision this morning,” Lexa tells her. She’s speaking in a low, soft tone - like Clarke’s a frightened, cornered animal. Maybe she doesn’t mean it that way. “The names were submitted to me, and your father was on the list. This is not me playing favorites. His evaluation shows he has a chance at recovery. A weak one - but he has one.”

  
  


Clarke blinks. “Wait, so… You didn’t put his name on the list?”

  
  


“I only sped up the process,” Lexa says. Clarke imagines her in her office, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window over the city she owns. She’s never been to her office. Maybe it’s completely different from her expectations. Assumptions, more like it. “I put him in the first group. He will begin receiving treatment as soon as you sign the papers. Should you… choose to, of course.” Lexa stumbles over the last sentence with something akin to nervousness, and Clarke wants to howl with laughter. It’s like they’re discussing Lexa’s latest gift to her and whether Clarke likes it or not.  _ ‘Hey, babe, I just saved your dad’s life and your mom’s entire life savings. You want the papers in pink or green?’ _

  
  


Is that how Lexa sees it?

  
  


“It’s up to you,” Lexa finishes in that low voice of hers. Clarke laughs, sharp and bitter.

  
  


“You know it’s not,” she says. She doesn’t understand her own anger, but it explodes in her chest, spreading through her veins like poison. “You know that there’s no way I will refuse this. There’s  _ no way _ I would gamble with my father’s life.”

  
  


“I know.” She hates how steady Lexa is. She thinks she hates her right now, in this moment. Just a little bit. “That’s why I’m sorry. I’m so -- I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

  
  


“I thought we had an understanding,” she replies quietly.

  
  


_ “We are opening an experimental treatment program to honor his memory.” Lexa said, and Clarke felt it again - a pang, painful and sharp somewhere deep between her heart and her stomach. _

  
  


_ She was playing right into her hands - their hands, Finn and hers. Clarke simply needed to direct her a little more. “Lexa,” she shook her head. “I can’t - it would complicate things so much.” _

  
  


_ “But if he’s eligible-” _

  
  


_ “What if he’s not?” _

  
  


_ Lexa nodded. Lexa looked at her tear-stricken face and watched her refuse to meet her eyes and nodded. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to get my hopes up if I were you, either.” _

  
  


_ When Lexa squeezed her hand, she finally lifted her gaze to meet Lexa’s. “This is not the reason I’m here.” A quick glance down to her lips, plump and still kiss-bruised from earlier. “With - with you.” _

  
  


This is entirely the one single reason I’m here.

  
  


_ Lexa frowned. “I don’t think that, Clarke,” she said. “Not for one second.” _

  
  


Oh - but Lexa, you should.

  
  


_ She slowly leaned in and carefully placed her head on her shoulder, and they watched the fire die before Lexa called her a cab, not a word about her tentative barely-offer. _

  
  


“And - nothing’s changed,” Clarke says in the present. “This is not and will not be the reason I’m… here.”

  
  


Lexa’s smile, Clarke imagines, is as soft as her voice. “I know.”

  
  


//

  
  


“Clarke, thank God,” her mother breathes out when she storms inside her apartment. “Where’ve you been? Have you checked your voicemail?”

  
  


Clarke briefly ignores her as she frowns at Finn. “What are you doing here?” Right now, his presence is overbearing. She doesn’t know what to feel now when she looks at him. Should she feel gratitude for his insane plan that’s working out just the way - if not better than  - he has designed it? Should she feel shame for essentially cheating on him - breaking the established, assumed boundaries of her not having any desire towards Lexa?

  
  


Finn blinks. “I’m -- where have you been?”

  
  


“In class,” Clarke replies, addressing them both now. “I… I did check my voicemail.” She sighs. Takes off her coat and hangs it above Lexa’s. She really should return it. That’s pretty much the only thing of hers she is able to give back to her.

  
  


“I couldn’t believe it at first,” her mother says. “This program hasn’t even been announced yet. They will do that once every candidate is on board. They - Clarke,” for the first time in weeks, Clarke sees raw emotion shine in her mother’s eyes, wet and bright. Sees the cracks in her pragmatic facade, and through those cracks, all the pain and relief she can’t mask. “They will cover his bills. They finance everything, from new drugs to life support he’s currently on.”

  
  


“What’s the duration?”

  
  


Her mother lets out a shaky sigh. “Half a year,” she says, voice still full of disbelief. “There could be complications, of course - it is an experimental treatment, after all.”

  
  


“Yes,” Clarke nods. “Of course. But - it’s six months of free life support we’re talking about here. That, and a very real chance of him recovering.” She swallows. “The Woods like to take risks. Each single one of them pays off.”

  
  


Except Clarke. But her mother doesn’t need to know that, and neither does Lexa.

  
  


“I wasn’t sure his daughter would continue supporting medicine as much as Charles did,” her mother says. “Truth be told, I expected her to cut our financing. But - I guess they really raised her right.”

  
  


“She more than doubled her profits particularly in this sector since she inherited everything,” Finn speaks up, blinking uneasily when both Griffin women turn to look at him. “Medicine and pharmaceutical. That share of her business is expected to continue to grow.” He says it with the smallest smudge of disdain Clarke detects only because she’s looking. Disdain and defeat. Begrudging acceptance that his awful boss knows what she’s doing when it comes to business.

  
  


_ 'I don’t need to be liked' _ , Lexa told her a few days ago.  _ 'I need to be respected.' _

  
  


“We’re signing up,” Clarke says. “I mean - we are signing up, right? I don’t even know why you waited for me to say something to do it. We have to say yes.”

  
  


The older Griffin nods, and Clarke briefly closes her eyes when tears make their way down her mother’s cheeks. She’s grown older practically overnight. New wrinkles, strands of grey hair that weren’t there before. But her eyes are shining - with tears, yes, but also with hope.

  
  


Lexa’s given her mother hope.

  
  


Soon, she’ll give herself to Lexa.

  
  


Finn’s gaze, Finn’s whole face has grown unreadable, and she locks her jaw. “I need to change,” she announces to her mother. “Go to the hospital. I’ll meet you there.”

  
  


Abby Griffin looks between her and Finn, a hint of disapproval in her small smile - Clarke’s not sure whether it’s teasing or real. “I trust you to refrain from celebrating so prematurely.”

  
  


“Mom,” Clarke rolls her eyes. “I really do need to change. And talk to my boyfriend, yes.  _ Talk _ .”

  
  


Her mother leaves with a raised eyebrow and a tight hug - they both almost break down before catching themselves. Now is not the time. Sometimes, Clarke can easily see that she’s her daughter.

  
  


“Congratulations,” Finn says as soon as her mother is out of the door. It’s genuine, Clarke’s relieved to find, just like his small smile and the warmth in his eyes. “You did it.”

  
  


“ _ We _ did it,” she corrects him, crossing the room and practically falling into his open arms. It doesn’t feel either extremely uncomfortable or completely safe.Nothing like she’s built up - and down - in her head. It just feels - nice, she supposes. Familiar. She clings to that, inhaling his scent and tightening her arms around his waist.

  
  


Finn’s fingers are gentle as her strokes her hair. “I’m sorry you had to do this,” he says quietly. “Go through something like that. If you need something - anything - you know I’m here, right? We could…” he trails off, unsure, and Clarke really tries not to, but she still tenses up. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and -- if you ever need… professional help, we could-”

  
  


Clarke really, really tries not to, but she recoils from his embrace. Sharply. “Finn,” she says, frowning. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but it doesn’t look good.”

  
  


“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I didn’t mean… I don’t want to overstep, but - this must be mentally exhausting for you. And emotionally, and…” and here it is, “ _ sexually _ .”

  
  


“I didn’t sleep with her,” Clarke says, surprised at the cold, practically ice, in her tone.

_ ‘Or should I say “she didn’t rape me yet, honey?” Isn’t that what he’s trying to say?’ _

She doesn’t want to dwell on this sudden defensiveness over Lexa, but she can’t deny being offended on her behalf.

  
  


_ ‘It’s okay to want to slow down.’ _

  
  


_ ‘We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.’ _

  
  


_ ‘Am I experimentation?’ _

  
  


Finn doesn’t even know the half of it, and that’s what pissed her off, she realizes. He doesn’t - he doesn’t actually  _ know  _ Lexa.

  
  


_ ‘These people are not very good at their jobs, and I do not shy away from letting them know that.’ _

  
  


“What?” Finn’s so shocked he doesn’t even notice the distance Clarke’s put between them. “Then why did she… Oh,” Clarke’s not sure she likes this light of undoubtedly misguided realization in his eyes. “Wow, she’s - that’s downright diabolical.”

  
  


“What are you talking about?” this time, she’s perfectly aware of a snarl that’s coming from her and she does nothing to hide it. Somewhere deep inside, a voice reprimands her. ‘ _ This is Finn’ _ , it says reproachfully. ‘ _ Finn, the boy you’re in love with. The boy who practically saved your father and who you’re snarling at over some rich playgirl you barely know. _ ’

  
  


Finn still doesn’t notice - or pretends not to notice - her cold tone. “You really don’t get it?”

  
  


“I don’t.” she tries to warm her voice up.

  
  


When Finn shakes his head, his hair falls down on his eyes and he pushes it back, impatient. He could use a haircut, Clarke thinks. Maybe they’ll go together next week. “She set it up so you owe her now,” he says. “Now, you can’t just walk away. You’re indebted.”

  
  


“What? That’s crazy,” Clarke scoffs, turning around and walking into her bedroom. Finn follows after her, agitated.

  
  


“Is it? Think about it,” he presses on. “What exactly did she tell you when you talked to her about it?”

  
  


“She apologized, actually,” Clarke says, struggling not to let indignation color her voice.

  
  


“Of course she did,” Finn shakes his head again, a disbelieving smile on his face. “She really thought it through. And, wow, I think she got you to fall for it.”

  
  


That’s crazy. Absolutely crazy. Isn’t it?

  
  


_ ‘This is not the reason I’m here.’ _

  
  


_ ‘I know.’ _ Said with such conviction. Absolute trust. Or-

  
  


Trust?

  
  


Or hidden irony?

  
  


_ ‘This is not the reason I’m here.’ _

  
  


_ ‘Oh, but now it is.’ _

  
  


“No,” Clarke says out loud, surprising herself. “I mean - Finn, this is some conspiracy theory. Lexa’s not  _ that  _ evil. She’s not  _ Satan _ .”

  
  


“She’s not. She’s worse.”

  
  


Clarke rolls her eyes, looking through her wardrobe. “Now you’re just being dramatic.” Finn had a lot of theories back in a day, but this one-

  
  


_ Is it really that crazy? _

  
  


“Clarke,” there is something urgent in Finn’s voice, and it makes her finally look at him again. His face betrays too many emotions for her to decipher. Surprise is the most prominent, but also - hurt? No, more of a desperation. For her to believe him, she guesses.

  
  


_ ‘Everyone realizes I am good. Some would even say great,’ _ Lexa told her. She meant professionally, but the term ‘ _ professionally _ ’ is loosely defined by different people, she thinks, looking at Finn’s features twisted with something she’s yet to fully comprehend.

  
  


“Clarke,” he says again. “She could be polite with you. Charming. Kind. But you can’t forget who she is and who she was raised to be. Her world is different from ours. It’s cutthroat. You have to be ruthless to succeed, and she is. She’s a shark. Look at everything she’s achieved,” he gestures, his arms spread wide, as if Lexa’s millions, profits and sales are hung on Clarke’s bedroom walls. “Good people don’t succeed in a corporate world. But look at her and her companies. She’s thriving.”

  
  


“Okay,” Clarke rolls her eyes. “I think you’re overselling your point.”

  
  


_ These people are not very good at their jobs. _

  
  


_ Professionally, everyone realizes I am good. _

  
  


“Clarke-”

  
  


“I don’t have time for this right now,” she interrupts him. Her brain is a whirlwind of thoughts, and she just needs it to calm. She needs to focus on what’s really important. She did it. Or Finn did it, or, hell, Lexa did it - point is, it doesn’t matter in the slightest. What matters is her father getting this chance. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get to the hospital and sign the papers that will  _ save my dad. _ ” Or, at the very least, will allow them to come to a decision on their own, not forced by circumstances.

  
  


Finn recoils, guilt all over his face. “I - of course, baby,” he lets out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Nothing is more important than this.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, with an uncertain, warm smile. “Nothing.”

  
  


She sees Finn again. The one she fell for and the one that fell for her, when they were young and hopeful; when they believed in good and right and just. When they fought for it.

  
  


A kiss she presses to the corner of his lips is quick and soft. “Exactly.”

  
  


Even if she’s indebted to Lexa Woods - that doesn’t matter. Lexa merely flipped tables on them; she was the one who was supposed to be indebted. But now - it doesn’t matter. It’s always been about fair trade. Clarke for her father’s life and her mother’s heart and her boyfriend’s and friends’ happiness. Clarke for her people.

It doesn’t matter how evil or how kind Lexa really is. The deal is sealed.

  
  


Clarke gets a text right after signing everything. Lexa’s words bleed with apologies between them, still, and she sends one back, hoping it conveys her readiness to forgive.

  
  


Forgive and reward.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since wednesday is gdau day from now on, i decided to post another chapter so you guys aren't too bummed out about having to wait three more days

This is really not what Clarke’s been expecting when she decided to drop by Lexa’s apartment, unannounced. She’s wearing a matching lingerie set, for fuck’s sake. The one she bought specifically for the occasion, no less.

 

So her surprise at having found another hot blonde in Lexa’s apartment when she’s come there with one purpose in mind is completely justified, in her opinion.

 

It’s not like they are _dating_ , so technically this isn’t cheating. It’s not like Clarke has any feelings at all. Well, she does have pride, and she’s not going to lie - if Lexa’s two-timing her, it does sting a little bit. Not to mention it messes her plan up quite a bit.

 

All those thoughts fly through her head in a second as she stands at Lexa’s door, gaping at a tall blonde woman frowning back at her. She’s all sharp gaze and sharp cheekbones, and when it’s clear she isn’t going to acknowledge Clarke in any way other than judgmentally studying her, Clarke clears her throat and speaks.

 

“Is, uh, is Lexa home?”

 

The woman’s confused frown turns into a scowl. “You must be Clarke.” Well. This is taking hospitality to a whole new level - one far below the usual socially acceptable standard.

 

“That’s me,” Clarke tries not to stutter. She’s not easily scared, usually. But this woman has quite an intimidating presence. Now that Clarke gets a closer look at her, gets past her first assumption, she can see she doesn’t look like she’s just been fooling around. in fact, she looks impeccable, dressed in a manner similar to Lexa herself. Her stance resembles Lexa’s, too: tall and proud, if a bit sleeker. Just a touch more predatory.

 

So Lexa’s not cheating -- _not seeing other people_ , Clarke corrects herself. Who is this woman, then? An associate? Do business associates frequent each other’s apartments?

 

“Anya.”

 

Oh.

 

Oh, so this is -- oh. This is only the most important person in Lexa’s life, as Finn once put it. Anya Chand. Lexa’s advisor and business partner.

 

And, judging by her glare, not a fan of Clarke’s. “Lexa,” she replies in kind, not taking her eyes off Clarke. “I was merely making the acquaintance of Miss Griffin.”

 

Clarke has to bite her tongue to hold a jab she really, really wants to make. But something tells her that pissing Anya off is a poor decision. She needs to ask Finn about her later. But now, she shifts her gaze from Anya to Lexa and feels a small smile tug at the corner of her lips when blue meets vibrant green. “Hey.”

 

Lexa’s voice softens, so subtly Clarke almost misses it. “Hello, Clarke. Is everything okay?”

 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Clarke contemplates whether pushing past Anya and entering the room would be wise. In the end, her stubbornness wins. She edges past Anya, slightly brushing her shoulder with her own as she walks in to give Lexa a soft kiss on the cheek. “I wanted to see you,” she says quietly, watching Lexa’s eyes soften with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her lips. “I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time. Wanted to surprise you.”

 

“You did,” Lexa lets her know, that barely-there smile still dancing across her lips like a fading shadow. “Thank you.”

 

“A weird thing to be thankful for.”

 

“Not quite how I see it.”

 

“Then Miss Griffin and I are more alike than I thought.” Right. Anya. Still very present and very much not a fan of Clarke. What has Lexa been telling her to have her this angry with her seconds after meeting her - barely?

 

Clarke struggles against the urge to childishly roll her eyes and turns away from Lexa to face Anya who’s still standing near the door. She hasn’t closed it, Clarke notes. Interesting. “I’m sorry, this is really rude of me,” she says with a smile that becomes a touch warmer when she feels Lexa’s tentative hand on the small of her back in silent support. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Anya, whose glare grows colder. Huh. So I’m a rift. Interesting. “It’s just… been a while since I saw Lexa.”

 

Anya crosses her arms with a wry, humorless smirk. “Four days is a while?”

 

Clarke’s voice is quiet when she replies “yes” and glances at Lexa over her shoulder. Catches her eyes with her own once again and smiles. The gaze Lexa gives her in return sends a small, involuntary shiver down her spine, and Clarke’s not quite sure it’s a bad one. It’s loaded with so many things Clarke’s afraid to question and decipher.

 

And, no matter how much Lexa’s visibly trying to hide it, one of the things lurking in her eyes is hunger. For Clarke.

 

If it weren’t for Anya, Clarke’s pretty sure they would have already solidified the unspoken, unknown-to-Lexa deal they’ve got going on. But Anya is here, so Clarke has to make do with what she has.

 

She turns back to Anya. “Anyway, I think it’s time I properly introduce myself. I’m Clarke.”

 

Anya’s manners don’t allow her to ignore Clarke’s outstretched hand, but it’s clear as day that she wants to. Her handshake is firm but cold. “Anya.”

 

“My adviser,” Lexa pipes up, her hand more confident on Clarke’s back now as it rests there comfortably.

 

“Oh, that Anya!” Clarke pretends to be pleasantly surprised. “I’ve heard many good things about you.”

 

“Have you?” One sharp eyebrow rises. “Like what?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “You’re a great adviser.” That earns her a chuckle from Lexa and yet another wry, dark smirk from Anya who nods appreciatively. She admits I won that one, Clarke thinks to herself. So she’s fair, more or less. Good.

 

Awful and terrible if her plan is ever discovered, but for now, good.

 

//

 

Of course, Lexa has to take a call and of course, Clarke is left alone with Anya, both of them sitting on the couch. Clarke feels awkward. Anya, it seems, doesn’t feel like anything but staring at Clarke with a dark curious sparkle in her eyes.

 

She tries to build a bridge. “So how long have you known Lexa?”

 

“Long enough to know when she’s not thinking with her head,” Anya deadpans. “How much?”

 

Clarke frowns at her, confused. “Excuse me?”

 

“How much do you need from Lexa? I’ll pay you double to leave her alone.” Anya’s talking to her slowly and patiently - entire unlike her gaze that burns through Clarke’s skin. She’s reclined on the couch, looking relaxed in her lounging pose. But Clarke sees the angry twitch in her jaw, can trace the wrinkles near the corners of her lips that point downward. Sees the restless index finger that she taps her knee with as she continues to study Clarke. It’s clear how coiled she is, how tense. It’s clear she’s worried about Lexa.

 

None of this makes up for a fact that she just indirectly called Clarke a prostitute.

 

She sees red before stomping on it and letting out a breath. She could play dumb. Frown and tell Anya she doesn’t know what she’s talking about; but that won’t change the way Anya thinks of her. And Clarke is not dumb; nor does she want to be perceived as such.

 

Anya’s smirk makes a reappearance when Clarke raises her chin and presses her lips together defiantly. “Lexa has things other than money. Things that you, I’m afraid, won’t be able to offer.”

 

There’s a smudge of nastiness to the curl of Anya’s lips. “Ah. Like the ability to put your father into a program he desperately needs?”

 

Anya is smart. Anya is dangerous precisely because of this. Most of all, Anya is right. But Clarke won’t - _can’t_ \- let her know that.

 

She presses her lips together tighter. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

Anya shrugs. “But that’s what it is,” she says easily, putting her elbow on the headrest of the couch and propping her head on her hand, looking at Clarke. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Clarke; and you meeting Lexa days after your father is put on life support in her hospital could be classified exactly as such. You know,” her smirk widens, “by someone who believes in coincidences.”

 

“We met in a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere,” Clarke defends herself, already knowing it’s a losing battle. What is she doing?

 

 _Don’t play her games_ , she scolds herself.

 

“People have orchestrated schemes far more difficult to execute,” Anya shrugs again before reaching for her whiskey glass and taking a measured sip. She hums when it burns down her throat. Clarke grimaces and drinks some of her water, eyeing Anya’s glass enviously.

 

“That’s not why I’m here,” she tells Anya exactly what she’s told Lexa before. Just as expected, Anya merely scoffs.

 

“I’m not Lexa. I don’t fall for bullshit pretty girls spew to get what they want.” She gets suddenly serious. Her mocking smirk fades and her lips press together, deep frown etching a line through her forehead. When she looks at Clarke next, there’s no anger anymore. No glare. Only carefully masked worry underneath impassiveness. “Look, Clarke. I’m going to be honest with you and I hope you show me the same courtesy. I get it. For the first time - you’re the first girl of hers that actually makes sense. I know you don’t need her money - at least, you don’t need it for yourself. So I’m gonna say it just this once. Back off. This is your chance. Break things off and live your life and don’t ruin Lexa’s. And if you’re worried about her cutting your father off, don’t. I’ll make sure she doesn’t, no matter how she feels about the situation.”

 

It’s scary - how perceptive Anya is. Could Lexa have been like her has she not been blinded by her own desire?

 

(Or is it yearning?)

 

Anya’s words are smooth and flawless and they make the perfect sense, and perhaps that’s partly why Clarke feels such a strong need to defy her. That, and the fact that she can’t trust this woman at all. If Lexa’s somewhat familiar, easy to understand, her buttons known to Clarke, were pressed by Clarke already - Anya is entirely uncharted waters. Anya could be telling the truth. Or Anya could be simply waiting for her to slip up so she can expose her before Lexa, who knows why.

 

She doesn’t know her agenda, so she chooses to stick to her own.

 

Quiet, cold rage seeps into her tone when she speaks, and only some of it is for show. “That’s not why I’m here,” she repeats herself, stronger this time. “And - does Lexa know how lowly you think of her? No matter what happens between me and her, my father will be receiving treatment whether or not you ‘make sure of it’. Because he is not a part of it and because Lexa’s not like that.” the last part is emphasized. It burns at the tips of her tongue even after it slips, and Clarke’s surprised and afraid to find she believes that.

 

Slowly but surely, Lexa’s proved herself to be honorable. Trustworthy. Things Clarke is not - but what else is new?

 

Anya’s grin drips with venom. “As naive as you are young,” she notes, taking another sip. There’s danger lurking beneath her once-again-mocking tone when she says her next - and last - words to Clarke. Not like Lexa, though. The quiet danger of Lexa’s voice is exciting and intoxicating. Anya’s is terrifying.

 

“I’m her mentor. You’re her fling. Who knows her better?”

 

//

 

Anya’s words - Anya’s entire presence - still burns in Clarke’s mind as she sits in the hospital chair, watching her father’s still form. His lungs have been collapsing, but the new machine seems to be helping. The new room too; it’s bigger and it seems to Clarke that it’s a little easier to breathe in there. It could be her imagination.

 

Finn is pensive next to her, and his thumb caressing the back of her hand is nothing more than an afterthought. “Anya is dangerous,” he declares.

 

Clarke snorts. “Ya think?”

 

“Sorry. I’m just - I’m thinking out loud, I guess.”

 

“Just tell me everything you know about her.” Clarke sighs. Blows a fallen strand of hair away from her face. “I need to be prepared. More than I was today. Much more.”

 

She left Lexa’s place as soon as Lexa came back into the room, quickly making up a hurried excuse. Lexa’s leveled glare at Anya didn’t go unnoticed by her, but she couldn’t stay there any longer, too afraid of giving something away under Anya’s watchful stare. Wrong look, wrong expression, subtle stiffening at having Lexa near her - and she’s doomed.

 

So she ran. Lexa called her once, half an hour ago, and she shot her a quick text asking about her plans for tomorrow evening - it was mostly an impulsive decision to placate Lexa. Now, she has to plan a date and also be briefed on everything Anya. God, med school seems like a walk in the park in comparison right now.

 

Finn nods. “Anya is -- well, if she doesn’t approve of you, it’s not that big of a deal. She doesn’t approve of anyone. She certainly doesn’t approve of any girl Lexa’s dated in the past. And she’s, like, scary smart. Both of them are, but Lexa’s blind when it comes to pretty girls,” he grins. Clarke shivers.

 

‘ _I’m not Lexa. I don’t fall for bullshit pretty girls spew to get what they want.’_

 

“Right,” she hurries to change the topic, suddenly uneasy. “What else do you know about Anya?”

 

He shrugs, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Lexa listens to her a lot, and, as I was saying, she doesn’t approve of anyone - and in the end, she usually turns out to be right.”

 

In Clarke’s case, too. Perhaps, Anya and her could have been friends in some other world - although friends seem too strong of a word. Allies? “Perceptive. Yeah, I got that. She saw right through me, and it’s bad. I need to take care of it.”

 

Finn is thoughtful when he says his next words, seemingly not listening to Clarke very closely. “You know, I think - I’m pretty sure Anya’s the closest thing Lexa has to a friend,” he stares off in the distance, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “That’s really all I can give you, though. She’s not in public much, not like Lexa.”

 

“She mentioned she was her mentor.”

 

“Yeah, maybe that word works better.”

 

Well, shit. Anya entering the equation really messes some things up. They’ve taken a dangerous turn. She can easily persuade Lexa to dump Clarke and kick her father off the program, the last one just for the hell of it, or as punishment. Whatever it could be, Clarke’s not about to bet on her father’s life.

 

“I have to get her to trust me,” she muses, barely noticing Finn letting go of her hand.

 

“How are you going to do that? People like Lexa and her - they don’t even trust themselves.” There he goes being overdramatic again. Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes. She has bigger things to worry about.

 

Anya’s close to Lexa. Anya’s her friend. Anya, most likely, genuinely cares about Lexa. That’s her strength - and her weak spot.

 

“I’m going to take care of her friend and mean it.”

 

//

 

Clarke doesn’t know whether to feel proud or disappointed of her date-planning skills right now as she watches Lexa hold onto the ice rink barrier for dear life. When Lexa slips and goes down, blinking up at her owlishly, a hat Clarke put on her head askew, Clarke decides to feel proud. It’s not every day you watch a billionaire fall on her ass.

 

She silently praises herself once again for picking a rink that’s usually deserted on a weeknight. It’s small and it’s not in the centre, but its secluded location and pretty lights more than make up for it. Right now, with the sky dark above them, the lights burn dim and warm, illuminating snow slowly falling around them. It’s a lovely view.

 

Lexa, clumsy and helpless, is even more lovely of a view.

 

“I’m sorry,” she manages through chuckles that she tries very hard not to turn into full-blown laughter. “I thought this was a cute idea for a date, what’s with it being the end of November and all.”

 

“Well,” Lexa huffed from where she sat on the ice, “it was. For you.”

 

This time, Clarke does let out a short laugh and gracefully skates over to Lexa, offering her a hand. In hindsight, she really should’ve seen this coming.

 

She laughs again when she’s pulled on top of Lexa. “I guess I didn’t really think there was something great Lexa Woods hasn’t mastered.”

 

She watches green eyes study her. There’s warmth, but there’s something as well, seated deep within Lexa’s stare. “I haven’t mastered a lot of things, Clarke.”

 

Clarke groans and shakes her head. “Please, don’t - none of that cryptic thing you got going on. Not tonight. Please? We’re two girls on a date. That’s it.” She stands up, helping Lexa up as well before dusting herself off. Lexa warily does the same, one hand gripping the barrier. “By the way,” she drawls. “It’s a fifth one.” at Lexa’s confused stare, she waggles her eyebrows. “You know. The fifth date. The five date rule?”

 

Lexa has to think for a second before her eyes widen ever so slightly. “Oh. I don’t really follow those… rules.”

 

Clarke takes her hand to assist her as she slowly and carefully makes her way on ice, the other hand still holding the barrier. “Do you follow _any_ rules?” She half-teases, half-asks Lexa.

 

“Too many,” Lexa looks up from her feet clothed in ice skates to smile at Clarke. “You know that.” She does. She knows a lot about Lexa, right from the source - she just doesn’t know whether or not she can trust that.

 

Or she chooses not to, because if she does, then that makes her even more of a horrible person.

 

 _Not tonight_ , she reminds herself.

 

“So,” she says, attempting to sound cheerful. “Anya hates me, doesn’t she?”

 

Lexa looks up at her again, stilling her movements. A small frown settles on her features. “I want to apologize for her behavior. She’s not thinking clearly when it comes to my personal life.”

 

“Funny,” Clarke says. “She mentioned the same thing about you.”

 

Lexa’s smile is bitter. Clarke can easily see that. “She’s right. Both of us are.”

 

“I’m not mad at her, you know. It makes sense. For her to be like this. Especially with my dad and you and -- this whole situation, I mean-”

 

“Clarke.” Lexa takes her hands in her own; her wobbling a bit and struggling to stay upright don’t let the moment become as serious as she no doubt intends it to. Clarke holds her up, smiling involuntary. “Clarke,” she repeats, this time with a grin and a small rolling of her eyes. “I thought we went over this already.”

 

“We didn’t. Not really.” Clarke sighs. “Anya is wrong about me, but I think she’s right about - I mean, she has a right to be this apprehensive. I just want you to know I don’t blame her. And I also have no idea how to prove I’m not doing this for any reason other than finding you cute in this hat,” she flicks at one of the hat’s ears, snickering when Lexa jokingly scowls and leans away slightly.

 

“So you think I’m cute?”

 

“Lexa.”

 

Lexa sighs. “Okay. I don’t know what to say to you, Clarke. I choose to put my trust in you. I hope that’s enough.”

 

“Enough? It’s everything, Lexa.” Clarke finds herself meaning her words once again as she looks Lexa in the eye. It is everything. And Clarke’s going to take that away from her.

 

Lexa’s silent as she continues to look at Clarke, so she speaks up. “I’m just - I want your friends to like me. At least a little.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have many of those. And _I_ like you,” Lexa says simply. Then, she grins. “I mean. You’re alright, I guess.” her repeating Clarke’s words to her makes Clarke’s smile grow wider. She doesn’t quite realize that until it’s already there, stretched across her lips.

 

“I see you keep taking those risks, Miss Woods,” she teases. “Keep it up and I’ll let you fall on your ass again.”

 

“Too late,” Lexa says quietly, and Clarke can see in her eyes that she’s about to turn this heavy. Her next words confirm Clarke’s suspicions. “I think I already did.”

 

Okay. When Clarke mentioned the five date rule, she didn’t mean this. But Lexa’s leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her lips that burns - with tenderness and adoration and gentle hunger - and Clarke gasps at the butterflies in her stomach, unexpected and strange.

 

Lexa’s ability to make any moment so perfectly sappy astonishes Clarke as much as it confuses her feelings, it seems.

 

She needs to deal with it. Later. When she’s not softly kissing Lexa under slowly falling snow on an empty skate rink.

 

What a mess.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting schedule: every wednesday, 9/8c. i will also be accepting your prompts, writing drabbles and answering your questions on tumblr, same day same time, without fail.

“Hold up. You’re going to a party hosted by Lexa Woods?” 

 

“Dude,” Raven sighs, rolling her eyes at Octavia who’s staring at Clarke, bewildered. “They are  _ dating _ . You really need to choose better things to freak out about.” 

 

“We are not dating,” Clarke corrects, not turning away from the mirror. Her friends are lounging on her bed while she’s trying an outfit after an outfit, and so far they proved to be very unhelpful. She’s lowkey regretting asking them to come. Not that she’d ever tell them that. 

 

But - it’s a dinner party hosted by Lexa Woods. And from what Clarke gathered, it’s going to be a rather intimate, close-knit affair. Anya’s going to be there. People close to Lexa - people Lexa trusts - are going to be there. 

  
She has to look perfect, whether they are dating or not - which they aren’t, at least she doesn’t think so. They haven’t talked about going exclusive or anything. 

 

Raven snorts, jarring Clarke from her musings. “Honey,” she says. “You hold hands and you kiss and you go on dates. Hate to break it to you, but that’s dating.” 

 

“Okay, then we’re casually dating. But we haven’t really… discussed the terms.” 

 

Except Lexa implied she was falling for her and they haven’t gone a full day without talking ever since, be it texts or calls or dates. Even if they wanted to see other people, they wouldn’t have the time, Clarke thinks to herself. 

 

“She invited you to a private party,” Octavia points out. “This is serious.” 

 

“It's not really a private party.” 

 

“It's an invitation-only party,” Raven pipes up. “That makes it a private party.” 

 

Clarke huffs, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. “Do you want to make me even more nervous about tonight?” 

 

And holy crap, is she nervous. Her stomach is an anxious ball of knots, and there's another one lodged in her throat. To Lexa, tonight might be a simple step forward in their slowly - seriously, so slowly - evolving relationship. But to Clarke - and to Anya, and to everyone close to Lexa - this is a test. When Finn and her discussed their plan, at the beginning, they assumed it'd be easy because of Lexa's affinity for conquests. She didn't even realize that would actually be one of her disadvantages. 

 

Lexa's friends, people who care about her - they are used to the likes of Clarke. Only there for money and status that Lexa Woods’s affections bring. Claire has a feeling Anya was only a tip of the judgmental overprotective iceberg. 

 

So yeah. She's fucking nervous alright. 

Her friends remain mostly oblivious to her inner turmoil. Obviously. They don’t know about the plan. They don’t know the actual reason for Clarke’s anxiety. For them, it’s date jitters, not more. 

 

“Damn,” Raven whistles. “Lexa must be good if she got the Griffin feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush.” 

 

“I am not-” 

 

“Come on, Clarke,” Octavia interrupts, rolling her eyes. “This is the third outfit you tried on and you haven’t stopped chewing on your bottom lip since we walked in. Face it. You’re crushing. Hard.” 

 

That would probably be better than what’s actually going on. “Fine,” she says throwing her hands up in defeat before tugging a white blazer off. “I have a crush and I have a date with said crush and I have nothing to wear. Now will you help me or not?”

 

“Technically, that’s not a date tho-” 

 

Clarke glares. “My ethical stance on murder is rapidly shifting, Raven.” 

 

Her friends raises her hands in a calming gesture. “Okay, geez,” she mumbles. “We’ll help. Come on,” she grabs Octavia’s arm, hauling her up despite the girl’s groan of protest. “Seriously. Clarke’s right. I mean - it’s Lexa Woods.” 

 

“Please stop saying that.” 

 

// 

 

In the end, they ended up with what Clarke’s started before they came over. “You can’t go wrong with the little black dress,” Raven announced, thrusting the garment into Clarke’s hands and shoving her in the bathroom to change once again. Now, she’s standing in front of the art gallery, wearing that exact dress and shakily exhaling. Breathe. Focus. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. 

 

Except it’s everything she hasn’t seen before. These people are filthy rich. disgustingly rich. Outrageously so. And Lexa is one of them. 

 

And she may or may not be dating her. 

 

“Clarke? Are you alright?” Lexa’s standing next to her, a hand on the small of her back soothing and guiding. “We do not have to be here if you don’t want to.” 

 

Clarke exhales once more. “I’m pretty sure you have to be there,” she tells her with a slight smile that Lexa returns. 

 

“I’m afraid I do,” she replies. “But only in the beginning. If you wish to leave any time between now and then, let me know. Gustus will drive you home. Or I will if I’m done with my part by then.” She carefully takes Clarke’s hand in her own gloved one, squeezing. Clarke’s gaze fall down, studies the crimson leather of Lexa’s glove - a stylish contrast against her mustard coat over a charcoal suit. Her eyes travel up, to Lexa’s bowtie - dark red to match the gloves. She looks good. Better than good. She looks unfairly handsome, and Clarke suddenly feels extremely underdressed. Her own dress, while flattering for her figure and curves, is simple, and her black heels aren’t really as classy or as stylish as Lexa’s brogues. 

 

She’s constantly torn between wanting to be Lexa and wanting… Ugh. It’s pointless to deny that. Lexa’s attractive, yes. She’s curious about her, yes. 

 

She wants her, or the idea of being with her. Yes. 

 

Right now, she wants to be anywhere but here. “You don’t know me nearly as well as you seem to think you do if you think I’m leaving this party early.” Lexa’s green eyes are alight with amusement when Clarke defiantly sticks her chin up. “Lead the way, Miss Woods.” 

 

Lexa’s half-smile grows when she courteously extends an elbow to her that she takes, leaning in just a touch too close than necessary. She can smell Lexa’s perfume, and it’s as intoxicating as it was the first time. She doesn’t have another word for it. The scent is associated with Lexa now; expensive, subtle, fresh and clean and sexy. Yet another word she can’t replace nor remove. 

 

So she’s not an old wrinkled man typical for your scenario - how tragic, Clarke thinks to herself bitingly. 

 

“Thank you for joining me today,” Lexa quietly says to her when they approach the cloakroom. “I wasn’t sure - I didn’t want to impose,” she stumbles over her words. Clarke wonders what the sentence was supposed to be before Lexa caught herself. 

 

“You didn’t,” Clarke tells her, smiling. 

 

“Let me.” Of course, Lexa helps her with her coat. When it slides down her arms, there’s a small pause between them. Clarke’s not sure if it’s her imagination - vanity, more like it - but for a second, she thinks she hears the hitch in Lexa’s breath. 

 

“Okay.” No, she’s not imagining things - Lexa’s voice definitely dropped an octave or two lower. She turns to face her, finding her taking her in, her coat still in her arms. “You look stunning, Clarke.” 

 

Green meet blue once Lexa’s done giving Clarke a slow onceover, eyes hooded and unreadable. It’s her turn to almost lose her voice when her throat suddenly goes dry. “I - thank you, Lexa. So do you, if I haven’t mentioned it yet.” 

 

“Thank you.” Lexa clears her throat and gives their outerwear to the coat check. “This way.” 

 

//

 

When they walk into a small hall, there are people dressed to the nines, talking and laughing with each other. The atmosphere is friendly and familiar. Clarke’s never felt more out of place.

 

Of course, Anya is here. Of course, neither of them are particularly happy to see each other again. But Clarke’s decided to adopt the ‘I’m doing it for Lexa’ mentality. That’s what a good girlfriend would do - stay honest about her dislike of her friend but try for her sake anyway. 

 

If Anya notices, she doesn’t mention it. “Clarke,” she says, her greeting nod almost dismissive. 

 

She sighs. “Hello, Anya.” 

 

“Ah, you remember each other,” Lexa comments, grabbing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and giving one to Clarke. Anya salutes with her whiskey glass, and they take a small, tense sip. “I trust there to be no bloodshed tonight.” Her half-smile is ever present when Clarke playfully slaps her shoulder. 

 

“Stop it,” she warns her laughingly, feeling anything but on the inside. “We’re okay. Right?” 

 

Anya’s eyes are darkly amused just like the last time they saw each other when she studies Clarke over the rim of her glass. “Right,” she chuckles. “I’ll play nice, Lexa. Don’t you worry.” 

 

Clarke’s not sure they have the same definition of the word ‘nice’.

 

“Miss Woods,” a young disheveled man approaches them, breaking a small pregnant pause that was beginning to border on uncomfortable. “I’m sorry - you’re needed backstage and, and-” 

 

“Of course, Jonathan. Lead the way.” Lexa squeezes Clarke’s hand before letting go and following the guy somewhere, subtly shaking her head at the smirk Anya’s sporting. Perfect. Looks like it’s just the two of them for now. Maybe she should’ve taken Lexa up on her earlier offer. 

 

“So,” Anya’s smirk is nothing short of predatory. “You stayed.” 

 

Clarke takes another sip of her champagne, looking around once before settling her even gaze on Anya. “Says something about me, I’m sure.” 

 

The woman chuckles. “Bravery is often confused with arrogance, but both are dangerous when mixed with foolishness.” 

 

Clarke wonders, not for the first time, if being cryptic is taught at Ivy League colleges as an elective. “I’m neither of the four,” she chooses to reply, schooling her features in a neutral expression. “Look,” she’s decided on the course of action right after Lexa’s invited her to this party. Anya’s own medicine. Brutal honesty. Well, lies that benefit Clarke masked as brutal honesty, but the approach looks the same. “You don’t like me. You don’t trust me and you have good reasons not to. I get it. I don’t like you either - I don’t mean to be rude, but you kind of have that effect on people as far as I can tell.” Anya’s proud little smirk lets her know she’s not wrong. “But there are some things both of us need to remember. First, Lexa is an adult. Any decision she makes is hers. She chooses to stay with me - doesn’t mean I coerced her into it. She chooses to dump me - doesn’t mean you told her to. And another thing…” She swallows and looks around again, searching for Lexa’s reassuring presence. She’s nowhere to be found, however, so she refocuses on Anya. “We both care about her, and she obviously wants us to get along. So I propose we try. For her.” 

 

She can’t say she didn’t expect Anya’s sardonic laugh. “Wow,” the taller blonde says. “I’d slow clap it out but, you know,” she tips her glass, demonstrating what exactly holds her back from ridiculing Clarke further. “I have to give credit where credit is due - that was an impressive speech. A little sappy, a little cheesy, a little obvious, but said with quite the conviction. Almost had me there for a second.” 

 

Clarke sighs and tries to look patient. Inside, she growls. “I’m not going to jump through hoops to prove myself to you. This is Lexa’s relationship. Not yours.” 

 

“One day, another pretty girl will finally break her beyond repair,” Anya states coldly. She sure doesn’t hold any punches. If anything, she enjoys delivering them, watching them land right where she intends them to. “I don’t know if you’ll be the one to do it. But I can’t allow that to happen.” 

 

Clarke’s blood boils under her skin, and she’s not sure whether that indignation is for herself or for Lexa. “She’s not made of glass, and I have to ask again. Does she know how lowly you think of her?” 

 

“Not lowly. Realistic. Now listen to me,” she leans in, not blinking as she stares Clarke down. “You’re smooth and you’re smart. You know what you want and you know what you have to do to get it. You’re careful. I can see that. In any other situation, I’d respect that. But one day, you’ll slip up. Everyone does.” She leans in even closer - so close Clarke can see speckles of gold in her brown eyes. “And you bet your fine ass Lexa’s so fond of that on that day, I’ll be there to watch you fall.” 

 

Clarke struggles not to flinch when Anya lets out a short, sharp laugh in her face before gulping the rest of her whiskey down. “Take your time,” she smirks. “I love waiting. Builds character, like Lexa’s father once said. What an awful man and what a quotable phrase.” She cocks her head to the side as she places her empty glass on another passing waiter’s tray. “Enjoy your night, Miss Griffin.” And with that, she’s gone. 

 

Clarke seethes.  _ ‘What the fuck is that, True Blood?’ _

 

She hopes Anya doesn’t literally tear her throat out when she inevitably slips up - and there is no doubt in her mind that one day, one of these days, she will.

 

//

 

She’s still a little shaken up about Anya when she gets into Lexa’s car, with Gustus driving them home. Lexa notices. 

 

“Is everything okay?” She voices her question from earlier. Clarke’s not sure how to respond to that. 

 

_ ‘Everything’s peachy, Lexa. There’s a high possibility of your friend plotting my murder and when you find out why, you’ll probably help. So can you just start fucking me already so you get bored of me sooner and break this thing off on your own?’ _

 

Yeah. That doesn’t sound too good. “I’m okay,” she tries to smile, but she’s sure it doesn’t come out as convincing as she wants it to. “Thank you for tonight. It was a lovely evening.” 

 

Lexa’s gaze is heavy with concern. “It’s okay, you know,” she says gently. “You can say it. Tonight was full of rich snobs trying to figure out who’s richer.” 

 

“I’m pretty sure you won.” 

 

Lexa shakes her head once. “I wasn’t running.” She blinks when Clarke gives her a pointed look, and then chuckles in realization. “Well. I did just win in the asshole category. Was there one?” 

 

“That was the only one there,” Clarke snorts. The night has been… Interesting, for a lack of better word. “Is it always like this?” 

 

“When I mentioned it was going to be a small affair, I wasn't trying to mislead you on purpose,” Lexa replies. “It was supposed to be much… tighter than this.” 

 

Clarke's eyebrows fly up of their own accord. “Tighter.” 

 

“Please try to behave your age,” Lexa chides, but her grin gives her away. “And yes. But then my publicist thought it to be a perfect opportunity to make a couple of announcements and… It was rushed, in my opinion, but according to him, the last minute invitations created hype. The turnout was surprising.” 

 

Right. Lexa gave a speech. Clarke drifted in and out of it during parts she didn't understand. But she liked Lexa's message overall. Strive for a better future. Better society. A little saccharine, but inspiring. 

 

After hearing that speech, Clarke's not even sure how some of her employees can dislike her. She really does have a way with words. 

 

Did that work with all of those girls she's been with, too? That's been bothering her lately - a constant reminder that Anya is not likely to give up on her hunt. It's a problem Clarke doesn't have a solution to. A problem she just might have made worse tonight. 

 

She doesn't want to think about it. 

 

“Well,” she says, laying her head on Lexa's shoulder. “I believe congratulations are in order.” She leans in so that every time she speaks, her lips brush over Lexa's pulse point. When she feels the woman shiver under her touch, she can't help but smirk. ‘Good job, Griffin. Right on track.’

 

Lexa shivers again, and so Clarke doesn't expect it when she gently but surely puts some distance between them, lacing their fingers together in the space that appears on the backseat. “Thank you,” she says evenly. “Has Anya been giving you trouble?”

 

Clarke blinks. “No,” she lies, trying not to frown at Lexa's confusing behavior. Did Anya tell her something? “I get where she's coming from, I told you.” 

 

“Doesn't give her an excuse to harass you.” 

 

“She wasn't. Really.” 

 

Lexa doesn't look like she believes her, but Clarke doesn't care. She's too concerned with Lexa scooting a little further away. “Okay. Good. Let me know if she makes you uncomfortable in any way, please.” Leave it to Lexa to make protectiveness sound like drafting a contract. 

 

“Sure.”

 

Why is she pulling away? 

 

Gustus stops in front of Clarke's apartment building, and she tried to muster as much coyness as she has in herself. “Can I interest you in a nightcap?” There's no mistaking what she's really getting at. Absolutely none. 

 

Yet Lexa manages to - either that or she blatantly ignored Clarke's proposition, and she's not sure which one is worse. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. Tonight's been a little more taxing than I expected,” she says with a quiet smile. “How about a raincheck?” 

 

“Sure,” Clarke blinks, confused. “Uh, of course. Text me when you get home?” 

 

“It's my driver, Clarke,” Lexa reminds her fondly. 

 

“I see you're keen on defending that title you won earlier,” she rolls her eyes, and Lexa chuckles. 

 

“You're right. I do sound like a complete asshole sometimes.” 

 

“Only sound like?” Clarke raises an eyebrow, before: “Sometimes?” 

 

“Careful,” Lexa warns. “I just might change my mind and head up for a nightcap and steal the whole bottle out of spite.” 

 

Clarke sees her chance and she takes it. “Who said I'd mind?” She purrs, and again - her hinting is not subtle at all. 

 

Lexa smiles. “You got me,” she says. “I'm all bark and no bite. Maybe a little bit of bite. Not enough.” 

 

‘Come up with me and show me’ almost falls from the tip of Clarke's tongue before she catches it and buries it somewhere deep so it doesn't have a chance of escaping. “Okay,” she says instead. “I won't insist.” It might be her imagining things, but she could swear she sees relief flash through Lexa's eyes. 

 

This is not good. 

 

“Goodnight, Clarke.” Lexa's kiss is soft and warm and entirely lacks the hunger Clarke seeks. 

 

Not good at all. 

 

Lexa makes Gustus wait until Clarke reaches the entrance and walks inside the building before pulling away and driving into the night. 

 

Pulling away. That's what it feels like. Clarke's been through her fair share of breakups, and this one? This one would be the fastest yet most beneficial to her. 

 

But - will Lexa grow bored of the program and her father as quickly as she did of Clarke? And if not, will Anya, whose influence on Lexa and its extent is unknown, persuade her to cut him off anyway, just because she can - just because she can't stand Clarke?

 

She doesn't sleep that night, and when she watches the sunrise, there's one thought on her mind. It's the only thing that makes sense. 

 

She has to continue with this charade for the next six months. Until the program is over. Until either her father is okay or they reach the painful but logical decision. 

 

For now, though, Lexa is becoming less temporary. It's necessary. 

 

It's terrifying.

 

//

 

It’s not worse. It’s simply ridiculous. Clarke doesn’t have another word for it. 

Every time she tries to make a move, Lexa shuts down and politely gets rid of her. “Seriously. Every fucking time.” She huffs and takes a swig from her beer bottle, glancing at Finn who’s sitting on her couch next to her. “Is there something wrong with me? Am I not sexy enough to girls?” 

Finn squints at Clarke and her slumped pose, legs on the coffee table and jeans undone to accommodate stomach full of chicken wings they’ve inhaled earlier. “No, I’m sure you’re very sexy to her,” he teases, bumping his bottle against hers. 

“Ugh,” she sighs. “I just don’t  _ get it. _ ” Her bottle clunks and wobbles dangerously when she puts it on the table, carelessly. “Yesterday, she mumbled something about an early meeting before bolting out the door. It was seven pm.” 

Finn nods, thoughtful. “Okay… And what happened before that?” 

“Nothing bad! I mean - I don’t think-” she lets out a heavy breath, throwing her head back and looking up at the ceiling. “We were kissing and everything was going fine. I thought we were finally making progress. It’s been a month and two weeks, and she still hasn’t slept with me.” 

“That is weird,” Finn agrees with her. His voice cracks slightly, but when Clarke turns her head to look at him again, he’s just staring ahead, as if trying to remember something. “She had relationships that lasted less than that, and I’m willing to bet she most certainly slept with them.” 

Clarke rolls her head back and studies the ceiling again. “Exactly. This is bad, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t she want to have sex with me? She seems into me when we make out, but anything close to second base freaks her out.” 

Finn stands up abruptly, jarring her, and she blinks up at him as he starts gathering empty beer bottles, movements jerky. “Maybe you should talk to her about it,” he suggests. His voice is even, but when he straightens up, Clarke catches the expression on his face, and it’s as unreadable as Finn gets. Which usually isn’t much, but the mask he has on right now could rival Lexa’s stoicism. 

She blinks, following him with her eyes as he heads into the kitchen to dispose of the bottles. “I don’t think I should bring it up,” she says. When he doesn’t come back to the couch, she stands up with a small groan to join him at the counter. “Maybe she doesn’t think I’m ready yet-” 

Finn scoffs, and his face lights up with emotion. Clarke kinda wishes it stayed neutral. His expression is bitterness mixed with contempt, and she already knows she won’t like whatever it is he’s about to say. “Lexa, waiting for you to be ready? Please.” Clarke watches his hand tremble as he sends the last bottle in the trash with a particularly vicious throw. “No, there’s something else. Maybe she doesn’t trust you as much as she claims. Not gonna lie, I’m surprised she hasn’t dragged you into her bed the second she’s learned you’ve never been with a girl before.” 

Clarke takes a long, deep breath, and grabs an empty coffee mug just to give her hands something to do. Just so they don’t curl into fists. “What makes you say that?” 

Finn’s not looking at her when he answers. “Because that’s who she is. Because to her, everything is a conquest.” His grin is wry and humorless; it sends an unpleasant shiver through Clarke. “And you’re fresh meat she can’t wait to sink her teeth into. Conquer you.” 

Maybe she shouldn’t have grabbed that mug, because right now she wouldn't mind seeing it shatter against his head. His words hurt. Even if he’s right, they still hurt, and she has difficulty not letting that hurt guide her. “Yeah, except there’s one flaw in your logic. She hasn’t tried anything. At all.” 

Finn shrugs. “She’s got her own agenda. We’re not supposed to know what that is.” He’s still not looking at her when he opens one of the cabinets, then closes it. Puts his hands flat on the counter and leans forward, staring down. “Can we talk about something else?” His voice cracks again. 

Clarke frowns. What happened? Only a second ago, everything was fine. “I need your help with this,” she points out, blinking at his tense shoulders. When he barks out a short laugh, she almost flinches. 

“You know, when you asked me to come over, that’s not what I imagined.” 

What - seriously? 

Her frown deepens. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t answer the door naked,” she snaps. His weird agitation finally gets to her, and she feels her skin crawl with annoyance. “Next time, I’ll leave it open while I bend over the table.” 

“That’s not…” he swears under his breath. When he lifts his eyes to look at her next, his expression is suddenly livid, and something inside Clarke freezes and shrinks. “You’d do that, though, wouldn’t you? Not for me, of course.” 

It’s like there is an ice cold hand around her heart, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until she’s left gasping for breath. And there is also something in the air; a shift, final, irrevocable. Something changes within her and around her and she knows, suddenly, that try as she might, that’s something she won’t ever get back. She’s yet to figure out what it is; or perhaps she’s simply afraid of admitting things. 

Her blood runs cold before it boils, and there’s unpleasant heat in her stomach when she finally finds her voice. “For Lexa,” she manages to choke out. “You mean I’d do it for Lexa. I can’t believe you’re actually jealous of her.” 

Finn’s breathing grows shallow and fast. It always does when he’s angry. “I’m not - that’s not it,” he insists. 

Clarke stares at him. “I hope not, Finn, because that would be incredibly selfish of you.” 

She freezes when he does. For one long, terrifying second, when his eyes find hers, her stomach turns into a block of ice. For one long, terrifying second, Finn’s gaze flashes with something dark, and for the first time since she’s met him, Clarke thinks he might hit her. 

When that second passes, things somehow become even worse. 

Finn’s grown paler than death in his rage. She’s never seen him like this. “Selfish,” he starts quietly, his lips trembling. “Selfish. I’m giving my girlfriend tips on how to sleep with someone else, and I’m selfish.” 

“I’m not doing this because I want to!” 

“You sure sound like it!” 

The silence that follows is deafening. Finn looks like he’s about to have a panic attack. Clarke’s sure she doesn’t look better. 

  
She can’t believe he has a nerve to be petty when she’s the one who has to- 

‘But that’s just the thing. You don’t have to do anything - and if you do, deep down, you know - you know you don’t exactly object.’ 

She thinks of Lexa’s kiss-bruised lips and flushed cheeks and wide eyes. Thinks of her stutter when she makes up yet another excuse to leave, thinks of the way her gaze falls to Clarke’s lips and darkens. 

‘You sure sound like it.’ 

“Something’s changed,” Finn is the first to speak, quiet and defeated. “I’m not an idiot, Clarke. She got under your skin, and you let her. She’s toying with you, luring you in, and you’re falling for it.”  

She shakes her head. “We’re both using each other,” she says. “That was the plan. Your plan.” 

“I never planned on becoming your relationship therapist,” Finn snaps. Actually snaps. She’s never seen him like this before. 

It’s unfair. “I think you’re forgetting that none of this is about you,” she states coldly. She’s done. She’s too tired to coddle him. 

Finn’s expression is one of sadness. “Exactly. None of this is about me.” 

“I think you should go.” 

He doesn’t look at her when he grabs his coat and storms out, and only when he’s gone, does Clarke allow herself to slowly slide to the floor, dissolving in sobs. 

//

Lexa’s the most calculated, meticulous person Clarke’s ever met. But sometimes, she has terrible timing. 

She drops by Clarke’s apartment unannounced ten minutes after Finn leaves, and the door is wide open, revealing a quietly crying Clarke to Lexa’s stunned gaze. 

She doesn't even realize there's someone here until there are strong arms around her. Lexa's speech is a touch louder and faster than usual. “Are you hurt?” Her hands travel over Clarke's body, careful and impersonal, checking for any possible wounds. 

She only shakes her head and takes several shuddering breaths, trying to get her tears to stop. Lexa lets her calm down a little on her own, arms secure and reassuring around her. “Do you think you can stand?” 

Clarke nods. With a little bit of Lexa's help, she gets to her feet, sniffing and shivering. She only now notices the mug that lays shattered at her feet. She must've dropped it. 

Lexa's wearing a concerned frown. “Come on,” she says gently, guiding Clarke to the couch and sitting next to her after she runs back to the kitchen and gets a glass of water. “Here. Drink this.” 

“Thank you,” Clarke rasps after gulping it down in one sitting. Her voice is still rough with tears, and she clears her throat, trying not to sob. “I'm sorry.” 

“Stop,” Lexa orders. “Don't apologize. Do you want to talk about it? About what happened?” She's studying Clarke, and her frown is still there, etching a deep line I her forehead. 

Clarke shrugs. She feels cold. Numb. “I don't know. I'm not sure what just happened.” 

Lexa visibly hesitates before asking her next question. “Was there someone with you?” 

Clarke considers lying but - God. She's so tired. “Yes. Fi-friend. A friend. Well,” she says with a bitter chuckle, “I'm not sure if I can still call him that.” 

Lexa grows tense in a second. “What did he do?” Her tone is low, practically rumbling. Clarke hurries to explain things before Lexa tried to hunt him down.

“I think it was a team effort,” she sighs. It hurt. Finn’s words and actions and everything left up in the air when he left. She's sure it hurt him, too. “He's - it's a little complicated. He's an ex.” The words have never felt truly real. Until now. 

Something’s changed. Them. Did her feelings towards him change? But no - she still loves him. She's still in love with him. It wouldn't have hurt this much if she weren't, would it? 

“I see.” Lexa’s small smile is easy and encouraging. “Exes tend to be complicated.” 

“He was my first love. My first everything.” She has no idea why she's telling Lexa all this. That's the danger of her: she's pretty much the perfect listener. Things just pour out of Clarke when she's around her, and she struggles to keep those Lexa can't know about to herself. It's not easy. “We're trying to stay friends, but - I think it's time to admit we've failed. We are not working out.” 

“I'm not a huge believer in fate,” Lexa says. “But sometimes things truly aren't meant to be.” 

The next question slips off the tip of Clarke's tongue naturally, effortlessly - yet it radically shifts the conversation. She does it consciously, perfectly aware of what she's doing, because her mind goes a mile a minute, and she comes to the conclusion that this fight that may have very well cost her Finn cannot be in vain. And Finn was right. To a certain extent. Lexa's not her girlfriend. This is not a relationship. She has a clear plan she needs to follow.

She let her curiosity get the best of her, for a moment, for a second. Too much at stake, she thinks.

Her eyes finds Lexa's when she whispers her question in response to Lexa's earlier words. “Do you think we are?”

Lexa blinks, visibly caught off-guard. “I,” she starts before clearing her throat. “I don't - I haven't thought about it.” 

That's not a yes. But that's not a clear no, either. “And now that you think about it?” Clarke presses on. 

Lexa sighs. “What happened, Clarke? What did he do to upset you?” 

Clarke smirks, bitter and wry. “He got jealous.” 

“Jealous?” 

“We were talking about you.” Clarke's come up with the perfect method for lying long ago. Making up lie after lie is taxing and confusing. But weaving truth into lies, making them inseparable - that's what makes the lie solid. Difficult to untangle and difficult to catch. “I guess I took us being friends to a level he wasn't comfortable with. He was upset with me. He said things, I said things, and now we're here.” 

Lexa's eyes are unreadable again. “What caused him to become upset with you?” 

Half-truth, half-lie. “He didn't appreciate me discussing my sex life with him,” she blurts out. “Or, well. Lack thereof.” 

Lexa squirms under her pointed look. “Well,” she swallows thickly. “I get where he's coming from, but it's no excuse to make you cry.” 

“He didn't make me cry,” Clarke smiles. “I made me cry.” 

“Clarke.” Lexa's stare is piercing, vibrant green. “Don't. Please. You keep shouldering the blame for everyone in your life.” 

Clarke's suddenly irritated with her. Always so calm, so wise, always knowing what's best for Clarke. Maybe she needs to shoulder all the fucking blame. Maybe she does it because in the end, everything is her fault and in a twisted, fucked up way, that's what keeps her going. Lexa doesn't know her. 

That's the thing. She's been so concerned with people not knowing Lexa - but Lexa doesn't know her back, not really. She knows a fabricated version of her, a carefully crafted ploy for her to fall for. Whatever illusions Clarke's built - whatever illusions Lexa caused her to build - she needs to put a stop to them. Right now. 

Several thousand dollars per day - it's been a long time since Clarke's repeated that little mantra. It grounds her. It helps her get back on track. Just because Lexa's put her father into a program, doesn't mean it's over. Far from it, with Anya and the risk of her being exposed and Finn, upset and hurt - she has no idea what's going through his head and what he's going to do. 

“Okay,” she says slowly. “I'll stop shouldering the blame, but there's one thing I just can't figure out. Have I don't something to offend you?” 

Lexa blinks. “What? No. Why would you ask that?” 

“Either that,” Clarke says quietly. “Or you simply don't want me. Which one is it?” 

To Lexa's credit, she doesn't pretend to be confused. Her frown dissipated into a stoic expression, and her eyes are the only thing that moves. “Two options are not a lot to choose from.” 

“You're not giving me anything else, Lexa.” Clarke curls in on herself on the couch, watching Lexa watch her. Something raw, something tender flashes through green eyes at seeing Clarke this small, vulnerable before her. Bingo. “If there’s something… If you want to tell me anything, now would be the time. I promise you I’ll understand.” 

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, or between us,” Lexa starts quietly, her gaze on Clarke unwavering. “I don’t want you to think that for a second.” 

“But there is something wrong.”

Lexa swallows, but her eyes stay locked with Clarke’s. “Nothing is wrong.” 

This is not working. She needs to try another angle. “Okay. Good. Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t been purposefully avoiding sleeping with me.” Come on, Lexa, she thinks. Lie to me. Misstep. Just this once, take off your mask of honor and selflessness. 

The muscles of Lexa’s jaw twitch. “I can’t.” She finally breaks their tense eye contact, and Clarke uses that opportunity to let out a relieved sigh. They will sort it out. That’s good. 

Everything’s working out. “And why is that?” 

Lexa doesn’t reply. She looks down on her hands folded in her laps, fingers clasped and still, and Clarke tries to read the lock of her jaw and the lines of her frown. She thinks she might be finally getting it, but she’s not sure. It is a little obvious. 

She goes for it. “You don’t trust me, do you?” Lexa’s head snaps up, as sharp as her look. She opens her mouth to say something, but Clarke beats her to it. “I told you, Lexa. I get it. I get where Anya’s coming from and I get it if you have the same-” 

“That’s not it.” Lexa’s never interrupted her this abruptly. “I trust you, Clarke. I just... “ her gaze falls to Clarke’s lips before she makes herself look away, blowing out a small sigh. “I don’t trust myself.” 

Clarke blinks. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to explain that one.” 

In hindsight, she probably should’ve caught what Lexa was getting at. It was right there in front of her. but due to many factors, it never once occurred to her. 

“I don’t trust myself around you,” Lexa repeats. Her voice is quiet, but full, heated, loaded with unspoken phrases they’re both terrified of for different reasons. “I want to be with you, Clarke. You have no - you have absolutely no idea how much I want to be with you, but I want you to want it too. I want you to be sure about this.” 

It never once occurred to her just how much Lexa wanted her - so much that she had trouble controlling herself. Lexa, the proper, cold, collected Lexa with fire inside her, burning bright and greedy and only for Clarke and Clarke alone. She’s not even going to try to deny that it feels empowering. Much like Lexa herself, the knowledge is intoxicating. 

The fire reflects in green eyes, and there is another one that ignites deep within Clarke in reply, hot and raging and all-consuming. “I am,” she whispers. “I am sure, Lexa. Have been for a long time. I thought you were the one who wasn’t sure about this. About me.” 

“Clarke,” Lexa lets out a short, breathless laugh. “You clearly have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” 

The air shifts after Lexa’s phrase. It’s still heavy, but with a different kind of tension - the one Clarke needs. She only hopes Lexa won’t talk herself out of it again. So she presses on. “I can say the same thing about you,” she rasps, inching closer to Lexa, who gravitates towards her as well. “It surprises me. You’re so self-assured. Confident. How could you have missed how much I actually want you?” 

“How much?” Lexa parrots back. 

“Sometimes I feel like I might explode if you don’t touch me,” Clarke breathes. Lexa’s so close she could count her thick lashes if she wanted to. “And then you leave, and - I don’t want you to leave. Ever. I always want you to stay with me.” She swallows, leaning closer. “Lexa,” her voice drops to a rough whisper. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

Hesitation is clear on Lexa’s face, but Clarke’s afraid of pushing her too far. She holds her breath, waiting for a reply. It comes after a small pause. “Clarke,” Lexa sounds choked up. Almost pained. “You can tell me to leave any time you want. You can tell me to stop or slow down if you’re uncomfortable. It’s all up to you.” Green eyes search hers, wide and dark. “Tell me to leave.” 

“Never.” 

Lexa’s kiss tastes of longing and desperation when she closes the remaining distance between them first and catches Clarke’s waiting lips with her own. 


	7. Chapter 7

_ ‘I don’t know what came over me last night.’ _

 

_ ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you.’ _

 

_ ‘You have every right to be mad, but please give me another chance.’ _

 

_ ‘Let’s have lunch today.’  _

 

_ ‘I can’t lose you.’  _

 

_ ‘I love you.’  _

 

Clarke’s frown deepens more and more with each text from Finn that she reads. All of them were sent last night. Finn was typing all of it up and sending it to her, probably not sleeping at all, while she and Lexa- 

 

She barely stops herself from jumping when two arms wrap around her waist from behind and a warm body presses against her back. 

 

“Hi,” Lexa husks into her neck, and she hurries to lock her phone. Lexa couldn’t have read through the texts, could she? No one can read that fast. Hopefully. Lexa’s full of surprises, sure, but she’s not Supergirl.

 

Hopefully. 

 

“Hi,” she whispers back, turning around to face her new lover. Lover. God, she slept with her. She actually slept with her. 

 

And now, Lexa Woods is standing in her kitchen, barefoot, wearing a white undershirt and Clarke’s sweatpants that are baggy on her in the most delicious of ways, revealing the v-cut of her lower stomach and just a hint of her pelvis, soft short brown curls already familiar to Clarke’s eyes. 

 

Lexa’s kiss is sleepy and lazy. Clarke’s the first to deepen it, tasting this new Lexa, warm and sated and bare, stripped of formal wear and tension and obligations. “Come back to bed,” she mumbles against her lips. “It’s still early.” 

 

Clarke chuckles. “Never would have thought you’d be the one to encourage lazing around,” she teases. Man, she must have one hell of a morning breath. It can’t be all that bad, though. Lexa doesn’t seem to mind. 

 

“What can I say,” Lexa grins. “I strive to remain unpredictable. Mysterious. I’ve been told women quite like that.” 

 

“Shut up,” Clarke rolls her eyes before kissing her again. 

 

She doesn’t know how she feels. One word to describe her current mood would be relaxed. Sated. Her body is rested and boneless, and all she wants is to curl up in bed and doze off with a smile on her face. Great sex will do that to a girl, she supposes. 

 

Except she had great sex with another girl who is most decidedly not her boyfriend and it feels like she’s already said something along these lines a couple of times, but that’s her life now. Stuck in a loop of decisions she’s not even sure she can call right anymore. 

 

Finn was calling her over and over again while she was screaming Lexa’s name, and she’s not really sure if she was trying not to scream his. That’s something she might tell herself, sure. That’s something she might tell him when he inevitably finds out, sure. Is it true? 

 

She’s not - she’s just not sure. 

 

Lexa’s lips venture down to her jaw, leaving careless nibbles on her skin, and Clarke curses inwardly when she feels her body betray her again, with an aching pull in her lower stomach making her press closer to Lexa. 

 

She’s not sure about a lot of things lately. 

 

“Is everything okay?” Damn Lexa and her untimely perceptiveness. 

 

She forces a smile. “Everything’s perfect,” she breathes before slowly entwining her arms around Lexa’s neck, tugging her down for a kiss that leaves them both breathless. “Let’s go back to bed.” 

 

//

 

Last night… Last night was a surprise. To both of them, Clarke thinks. Lexa didn’t anticipate this at all. 

  
Clarke didn’t anticipate how much she would enjoy her. She suspected; ever since having a couple of hazy, confusing dreams, ever since that kiss in front of Lexa’s fireplace - but she never actually envisioned being this hungry for her touch. 

 

It’s not things or circumstances or other people that put a wrench in Clarke’s plan. It’s Lexa herself, and it’s as infuriating as it is exciting. 

 

Lexa’s kisses grew more and more fervent with each passing second that they spent on that couch, hands roaming and tugging and winding in each other’s hair. It’s either a really good porno or a really bad erotic novel, Clarke thinks to herself with an inner giggle that’s closer to a hysteria than an actual laugh. They are going to have sex. Christ. 

 

And that fucking smell. She hates how much she loves Lexa’s scent. So far, she hasn’t met anyone with this same scent, and she’s kinda grateful for that. She’s not sure she wants to know what her first thought, her first feeling would be if she’s ever reminded of Lexa in that intimate way. 

 

She can’t stop herself from deeply inhaling her when Lexa’s lips leave hers, only to travel down to her neck. The way Lexa clings to her - it’s like she spent a week in a desert and Clarke’s neck is the only source of water. 

 

Hunger. That hunger, the one that scared Clarke and lured her in at the same time is back. Lexa’s gaze burns with it, Lexa’s entire being is buzzing with it, and Clarke tells herself she must be catching it. That’s why she arches her body into Lexa’s hands. That’s why she can’t stop moaning and sighing and clutching the front of Lexa’s shirt in her fists. She thinks fleetingly that she’ll probably leave wrinkles on it, but she doubts Lexa cares about that right now. She hopes she won’t care about that tomorrow. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa pants against her ear as her hand tentatively caresses her stomach, inching higher, unsure, shaking. Clarke doesn’t have enough willpower to stop her. She doesn’t want to stop her. 

 

If anything, she wants her to go on and on and on until there’s nothing between them but sighs and cries and lips and tangled limbs. It should scare her. It will scare her in the morning and days to come. 

 

But right now, all she can think about is Lexa’s naked skin on her own, and she finally allows herself to let go and accept this feeling of pure need that arises in the pit of her stomach. Lets it wash over her in waves, leaving her a breathless mess in Lexa’s arms. 

 

She pushes Lexa away, only to tug her own shirt over her head and throw it somewhere behind her, and then her lips reclaim Lexa’s as she tugs her even closer than before. That results in Lexa knocking her onto her back, and she wraps her legs around her waist, instinctively. Lexa presses down - Clarke’s willing to bet she does it inadvertently - and the soft cotton of her sweatpants is thin. So, so thin, and Clarke is so grateful for it, because she can feel Lexa’s abs slide up against her, hard enough for her to see fucking stars. 

 

Lexa’s here to catch a greedy moan that falls from her lips. 

 

“Is this okay?” She envies Lexa’s self-control. She really does. Despite Lexa’s pupils being fully blown, the emerald green practically gone, despite the tension in tendons of her neck, despite the bead of sweat on her brow, she still has the ability to think and ask questions and make sure Clarke’s comfortable. 

 

Clarke herself knows she’s already past the point of no return. So she simply nods, sloppily, hurriedly, before tugging Lexa down for another kiss. She suddenly wants it fast. Dirty and dry, pardon her awful pun. As impersonal as it can get; most likely because it’s already as personal as she’s feared it to become. 

 

Lexa’s gaze, soft despite the hunger in her eyes, only furthers her fears. “Hey,” she whispers, slowing down, propped on her hands over Clarke’s body. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-” 

 

Oh no. She can’t afford to let her slip away again. “Lexa,” she growls breathlessly, hoping there’s enough conviction in her voice. “The only reason I’ll stop is if you don’t want me. Okay?” she hopes she makes sense. Turns out it’s difficult to make sense when you’re horny and terrified and almost painfully wet and terribly confused just about everything yet wanting it all at the same time. 

 

But Lexa gets it. “Okay,” she whispers, before leaning down and kissing her. 

 

Then, Clarke’s suddenly in the air, hoisted up on Lexa’s hips who’s carefully watching her. “Bedroom,” Lexa offers as her explanation. There’s some kind of twisted satisfaction deep in Clarke’s bones at hearing her this choked up. This weak. She’s made her like this. She’s weak for her. 

 

God, she’s fucked up. But there’s no place for self-reflection in her already busy mind. Aren’t people’s minds supposed to be blank during sex? Isn’t that the whole fucking point? “Second door on your left,” she replies, just as breathless. The sick satisfaction diminishes. By the time they reach her bedroom, she’s ashamed with her attempts to rub against Lexa’s stomach in order to get at least some kind of friction and, therefore, relief. 

 

This night will be interesting, that’s for sure. 

 

She hates that Lexa lowers her to the bed like she’s something holy, and she wants to get away from her tender gaze. 

 

Can’t she just fuck her, like normal people? Does she have to ‘ _ gaze soulfully in her eyes as if she’s the answer to universe?’ _

 

Maybe she won’t be able to go through with this. She’s fine with sex. Hell, she’s come to accept that she’s into sex with Lexa. But feelings? That’s a whole other deal. Lexa wasn’t supposed to be… like that. 

 

_ ‘She can’t be actually falling in love with me, she just can’t.’ _

 

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers, jostling Clarke out of her inner panic. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” 

 

She huffs. “Stop.” Lexa’s hands immediately still, and she rolls her eyes. “Stop assuming things and take off your clothes.” A little forward, but at this point, anything to move things along. 

 

Lexa obliges slowly and shakingly. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, dark; but her fingers tremble when she undoes the last button of her shirt, and they hesitate when they reach the belt buckle, and so Clarke swallows, blinking. They were so busy with Clarke’s comfort - has she asked Lexa if  _ she  _ was okay with it? 

 

She covers Lexa’s hands with her own, stilling them. “Lexa,” she says quietly, and she’s proud of the way her voice sounds - strong yet soft. “Are  _ you  _ sure about this?”

 

“I - of course,” Lexa blinks. “Of course I’m sure.” 

 

Clarke doesn’t know if she trusts that answer. But Lexa’s an adult, she recalls her own words she threw at Anya not so long ago. She’s allowed to make her own decisions and her own mistakes. 

 

She just doesn’t know Clarke will become one of the worst ones she’s ever made, but - not tonight. 

 

“Come here,” she breathes and tugs Lexa on top, hands impatient as she unfastens her belt buckle for her. It’s easy; a second later, the room is filled with the sound of a zipper being pulled down. So far, so good, Clarke thinks to herself. Not too different from when Finn and her- 

 

Maybe thinking about her boyfriend when she’s about to have sex with someone else isn’t such a good idea. 

 

(But - God, Finn hasn’t even crossed her mind until now, and truth be told, she doesn’t want to think about him at all.) 

 

But she loves him. 

 

Okay, that’s definitely not a good thing to be thinking about right now. So she tries to lose herself in Lexa’s touch. Her gentle lips and greedy hands and her warm body, hard and soft in all the right places. 

 

It should frighten her - how easy it is to lose herself in her. How easy it is to reward Lexa with moans and sighs as she expertly discovers her sweet spots and purrs each time she makes Clarke gasp. How easy it is to wrap her arms and legs around her body and let her explore her to a core. 

 

She’s still wearing most of her clothes and she’s already embarrassingly wet - she can feel it, the tell-tale signs of the dull, pounding ache between her legs, the pull in her lower stomach that makes her arch her back and roll her hips up, wantonly seeking pressure, any kind of pressure. Lexa’s stomach grants it, and she mewls - actually fucking mewls, making Lexa gasp in surprise and awe. 

 

“Lexa,” and here’s her first sigh of Lexa’s name. “Please, Lexa, I need you…” 

 

She’s playing it up only a little. That should probably frighten her, too. But she’s too tired of constant emotional roller-coasters she’s been on lately.  

 

This feels good. She’ll go with it. 

 

Lexa’s eyes are practically black. “Clarke,” she moans and begins to slowly descend down her body. Clarke blinks at the ceiling rapidly, lost in new sensations. She feels like a virgin again, only she’s not at a frat party and there’s no drunk laughter right outside the door. Only the sound of her own moans and Lexa’s wet kisses she leaves on her skin. This is - it’s all familiar yet different at the same time. The body on top of her is softer. Slimer. Lips kissing and nibbling at her neck are softer, too; softer and fuller than what she’s used to. Hands gliding over her skin aren’t as rough, aren’t as calloused. Fingers are light and and slender, and the touch is almost feather-like. 

 

It’s exhilarating. 

 

Why hasn’t she done this before? 

 

She widens her eyes in surprise and muted respect when Lexa slides one hand under her back, swiftly undoing her bra and smoothly sliding it down her shoulders. When her lips close around her right nipple, tongue grazing it before sucking, she cries out, loud and full. 

 

Lexa likes her being loud, she thinks, because she answers with a muffled moan and ruts into her, making her gasp as her abs press into her clit. “Right there,” she begs, unable to stop herself. She feels on the brink already. “Please.” 

 

That proves to be Lexa’s undoing. Clarke files it away for future use. Apparently, Lexa caves really easily when she begs. Exhibit A: Lexa releasing her nipple with a wet pop and sliding down her body, nestling between her legs and slowly tugging her pants down. 

 

Clarke hopes she isn’t about to ask her if it’s okay for the hundredth time when she raises her head to look at her, but Lexa clearly learned her lesson. She only raises herself to give Clarke a quick, deep kiss, and the raw emotion in it makes her heart squeeze, painfully sharp. 

 

Then, Clarke’s pants are tossed somewhere together with her underwear, and she’s spread open before Lexa’s hungry gaze, dripping and bare. 

 

“Fuck.” Clarke blinks, not sure if it’s a good ‘fuck’ or a bad one. She struggles not to close her legs, self-conscious, but then Lexa’s hands slide up to her inner thighs, thumbs drawing soothing invisible circles. “You’re so wet for me,” Lexa whispers, looking up to lock her eyes with Clarke’s hooded ones. “Dripping… perfect.” 

 

Clarke clenches around nothing and hides her face in her hands, embarrassed when Lexa lets out an awed gasp. So she saw. So she knows what she does to her. Fuck. 

 

There are gentle hands carefully caressing hers, then. “Hey,” Lexa’s voice is soft. “It’s okay, Clarke.” Next, there are kisses pressed to her hands covering her face, feather soft. “You’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispers. “So beautiful.” 

 

She can’t be like this. God, Lexa. Don’t. 

 

Clarke swallows and lowers her hands, accepting Lexa’s slow kiss. “I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers to her when they part. “I got carried away and made you uncomfortable.” 

 

She did, but not for the reasons she thinks. Clarke sighs and takes Lexa’s face in her hands, leaving small kisses all over, hoping she’ll see it for gratitude. “It’s okay,” she whispers back. “Just… stay with me?” 

 

Fuck - she has no idea why she asked her to do that. Come to think about it, it would have been easier if Lexa was… down there. But - maybe Clarke’s not as ready as she’s thought, and Lexa - Lexa is familiar. 

 

Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and Lexa’s staring her straight in the eye as her hand ventures lower and lower. “I’m here,” she whispers when she reaches her destination, sending a jolt through Clarke’s body. “I’m here,” she repeats when her fingers softly explore her and her eyes carefully gauge every tiny reaction Clarke has to her touch. She has to admit - Lexa’s excellent at learning her. Soon, she’s gasping and writhing in her arms again, unable to control her body’s response. 

 

Lexa’s gaze is too much. Too overwhelming, too tender, too much of everything, and so she grabs the back of her neck and crashes their lips together, desperate to escape the yearning that shines in green eyes. She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t need it. Not now, when she’s already lost, with Lexa’s touch igniting something within her that she didn’t know existed. 

 

It grows bigger and bigger when Lexa’s lips slide against hers, sighs and moans falling between them. It grows and it grows when Lexa gently but surely presses her into the mattress, hooking her arm under her right knee and spreading her even more, the gesture making her coat Lexa’s palm with her wetness, and then, just when she climbs even higher, Lexa’s fingers roll over her clit one last time before sliding lower and pushing inside her, slowly, curling up and stroking upwards with soft determination. 

 

With a cry of Lexa’s name, Clarke falls apart. Wave after wave hits her, rolling over her entire being in time with her cunt throbbing around Lexa’s fingers. God, has it even been a full minute? It doesn’t seem like it. It’s as if Lexa touched her and she exploded. She’d be mortified if she weren’t too busy coming. 

 

Later, she’ll think of possible reasons for this - her semi-celibacy, recent sexual confusion, hell, length of Lexa’s fingers - but for now, none of this matters. The world shrinks to the intense, almost blinding pleasure rippling through her, concentrated at the apex of her thighs, with Lexa’s hand, Lexa’s body being the only thing tethering her to bed. She scratches at her shoulders as she comes down from her high, slowly, with the help of Lexa’s thumb gently circling around her clit - then, she realizes she’s been digging her nails in Lexa’s back this entire time. That has to hurt, probably. But, judging by Lexa’s gaze, focused on her face. she doesn’t particularly care. 

 

“God,” Clarke sighs, still feeling the aftershocks run through her veins. her walls still fluttering around Lexa’s fingers, not as rhythmically, but just as strongly. “Fuck. Lexa, that was…” Incredible. Confusing. Terrifying. Hot. She doesn’t quite know which word to pick. 

 

Lexa chuckles from where she’s propped on her elbow, studying Clarke. She’s still wearing her white undershirt and a bra, Clarke notes. She should probably undress her now. Return the favor. She hopes Lexa’s not expecting her to be good at this. So far, she’s been exceptionally understanding, so there is a chance Clarke’s hope is not in vain. 

 

It doesn’t feel too difficult, she thinks as she recalls Lexa’s actions. Kinda like masturbation, but for someone else. Lexa’s got the same set as her, after all. Shouldn’t be too difficult. 

 

Lexa bends down to press a kiss against Clarke’s sweaty temple, and she takes that opportunity to tug her on top of herself again, sliding her hand over her abs - fuck they are hot, she thinks unashamedly. Even Finn’s aren’t as pronounced. She suddenly wants to take a peek, but when she drags the hem of Lexa’s undershirt up, a strong arm stops her. 

 

Green eyes are sparkling. “It’s okay,” Lexa tells her. “You don’t have to. Tonight’s about you. I’m okay.” 

 

Clarke gapes. “I’m - what?” Tonight’s about her? 

 

The whole point of tonight was about Lexa. If Clarke wanted to get off, she would’ve done it herself. Maybe it wouldn’t be as mindblowing, but-

 

(MIndblowing?)

 

But Lexa’s already made up her mind, it seems. “It’s alright,” she repeats in that same gentle voice. “We don’t have to go through everything the first time.” She does that thing where she smiles with her eyes while her face stays serious - Clarke still doesn’t know how she does it. “You’ll be ready when you’re ready.” 

 

Not for the first time, Clarke is astonished at how easily Lexa can read her one moment and become absolutely blind the next. And not for the first time, she wonders if it’s on purpose. If Lexa’s willing turning a blind eye to some things. If - what an insane thought - Lexa knows about everything but chooses to let Clarke ruin her because she’d rather have her this way than-

 

_ ‘Okay, Griffin,’  _ Clarke scoffs at herself.  _ ‘This is real life. So get real.’ _

 

It’s not like her to get emotional during sex. Then again, it’s not like her to have sex with girls, so. “Okay,” she whispers. “You’re right. I don’t think I’m ready for this - I’m sor...” she trails off at Lexa’s teasing glare, smiling slowly. “Right. No apologizing. My bad.” 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa huffs, but there’s a smile in her voice. “That’s still apologizing.” 

 

She quirks an eyebrow at her. “Do you really want to spend our first night together fighting?” 

 

Lexa quickly shakes her head no, eyes wide and almost innocent in their childlike fear. Clarke feels that pang in her chest again, sharp and unpleasant, and she swallows. hoping it doesn’t reflect in her eyes. “No,” Lexa says. “No fighting. I’d much rather do this.” And she leans down, catching Clarke’s lips with her own

 

They spend the rest of the night trading slow, lazy kisses until they fall asleep, and Clarke isn’t sure who drifts off first. Last thing she remembers is Lexa’s arms around her waist and sweet nothings whispered in her ear, Lexa’s speech becoming slurred as she fell deeper into her slumber. 

 

//

 

“He’s making progress. Slowly but surely.” 

It’s been awhile since she saw her mother glow like this. She’s… radiant. Happy. She’s talking in a hushed, gentle voice, her husband’s hand in her own as she sits beside his bed, and Clarke’s suddenly taken back to her early childhood. Or, at least, what she can remember of it. Or, perhaps, those aren’t memories at all, but dreams and scenes she saw in movies and read about in books, where a mother rocks her sleeping child, her smile as muted as the light from a small bedside lamp near them. 

She swallows the lump in her throat and gives her mom a smile, squeezing her other hand. “This is amazing news,” she breathes. 

Abby nods. “They are talking about reducing his dose soon,” she says excitedly. “If he’ll continue to recover at the same pace, but with a smaller amount of drug…” 

“He might make a recovery on his own down the road,” Clarke finishes, her heart beating just a little faster. It’s worth it, she thinks. It’s all absolutely worth it. Her mother’s shining eyes and her father’s still form, not quite as lifeless. All of her doubts, all the guilt is washed away, leaving her with drained, but happy. Hopeful. 

She knows she’d do it again. No matter the consequences, no matter what else she’ll have to endure, she’d do it again in a heartbeat if it means she might get to talk to her dad again. 

Silent tears trickle down her throat, and she swallows them, letting go of her mother’s hand hurriedly. She’s afraid she’ll squeeze too tight, and Abby will know something’s wrong. 

She picks up on it anyway. “Clarke?” She looks at her daughter’s face properly for the first time since she’s walked into the room. “Is everything okay?” 

_ ‘That’s what Lexa kept asking last night.’ _

Something must flash through her eyes, because Abby’s concerned frown deepens. “Oh, honey,” she says gently. “Are you and Finn having problems?” 

_ ‘No, mom. I essentially cheated on him last night and I’ve been avoiding him ever since, but we’re fine.’ _

How did she even know what to ask? “No,” she manages to utter. “No, we’re - it’s fine. Everything’s fine.” 

Abby’s gaze is condescendingly patient. “Doesn’t quite sound like it. But,” she shrugs her shoulders, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. I trust you to know what’s best for you, Clarke. And if you do want to talk about it in the future, I’m always here, okay?” 

This is one of the nicest things her mother said to her in a long time. She misses it. She misses her, but she’s not sure - no, in fact, she’s absolutely sure that she can’t tell her everything. Her mother is not ready to know about the price of her husband’s life, and Clarke’s not ready for her inevitable judgement. 

So she bites the inside of her cheek, nods, and gives her mother a weak smile. “Okay,” she says. “But there’s nothing to talk about. We’re fine.” 

She feels sick. 

// 

That sick feeling only intensifies when she comes home and realizes Lexa forgot her undershirt. She did leave in a hurry yesterday - something about an urgent meeting at work. And, well, they did oversleep a little. 

Lexa lets out smallest displeased noises when she doesn’t want to wake up. And Clarke possesses that knowledge now. Carries it around in her head, a memory stashed in her mind, fresh and sweet. She knows how Lexa takes her morning coffee. Knows what her sleepy face looks like, washed and clean and soft. Knows how Lexa sleeps, with one hand tucked under her cheek, brows furrowed with dreams. 

She knows Lexa, and Lexa knows her back, in a way that’s even deeper. Lexa knows what noises she makes when she comes; knows what her neck looks like tense and taut when she throws her head back in sharp pleasure. They are familiar to each other on a different level now, after a night spent sleeping together, molded with each other. After a morning filled with touches and kisses and sleepy nuzzling of skin. Her undershirt isn’t the only thing Lexa’s left behind. Clarke’s body will forever carry her touch like an invisible mark. But that’s not the reason for that sick feeling. 

Her stomach is tangled in knots because her heart leapt in her throat when she found the shirt. Because her first instinct after she picked it up was to inhale Lexa’s lingering smell. Because when she thinks about last night, there’s no disgust, no bad aftertaste left in her mouth. 

When she thinks about last night, it’s with a small smile on her face and with a pang in her chest, because Lexa somehow managed to make her feel safe and wanted and - she made her feel and she kinda hates her for it. 

It would have been so much easier if she didn’t enjoy it at all. She’d make Lexa leave early, or leave herself, and call Finn. He’d come get her and they’d get coffee and stay at his place and she’d silently cry on his shoulder while watching cartoons. 

Instead, she woke up in Lexa’s arms and didn’t want to get up. So she fell back into slumber. They drifted in and out of sleep, like it usually happens in the morning, when you know you need to be up soon, but you still have five minutes to spare. It felt like swimming through clouds, and Lexa was one of them, soft and pliant and smiling at her with half-lidded eyes, still heavy with sleep. 

Instead, she made her coffee and Lexa made her a small breakfast and they fed each other pieces of toast, kissing crumbs off the corners of their lips before Lexa’s phone rang, cutting their time together short. Clarke feels relieved now, but back then - she can’t lie to herself. She felt disappointed. 

She was thinking about spending the entire day with Lexa, and the prospect was more alluring than it was terrifying. 

Stupid Lexa and her stupid magical hands and lips and - stupid Lexa. 

There’s a knock on the door, and she drops the shirt, startled, before remembering she made plans with Raven. Plans might be too official a name for lazing around on the couch eating chinese and drinking beer, though. 

Raven’s struggling to hold onto her bags when Clarke opens the door, and Clarke rushes to help her, not wanting her dinner to end up on the floor. She ushers her in, towards the kitchen island, dumping the bags on it and inhaling the heavenly aroma. That’s exactly what she needs right now. Food and alcohol and her best friend. 

// 

She really wants Raven to evaporate right now. 

“Come on, Griffin,” her friend demands, stealing Clarke’s spring roll. “Dish. I have to know. Is she any good?” 

Clarke feels her face grow hot. “I’m not answering that,” she states indignantly, taking her spring roll back. “And you have your own food.” 

“Yours is better. Just like your sex life, apparently.” Raven’s eyes sparkle with laughter. “Or - am I wrong?”

In her defense, she didn’t tell Raven about her night with Lexa. Not outright. Raven found the goddamn undershirt, and since Clarke doesn’t wear those and the size didn’t look to be that of a man, she arrived at the correct conclusion. 

She just has to talk about Clarke’s least favorite topic, doesn’t she? “I’m serious,” Clarke tries. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

But Raven’s stubborn and, sometimes, she’s kind of an ass. “Whoa,” she whistles. “That bad, huh? Man, who woulda thought,” she says with mock sympathy. “Lexa Woods sucks in bed. Ha! Get it? And I wasn’t even trying. I never do. It comes natural.”

“Oh my God, Raven,” Clarke deadpans. But beer has loosened her tongue and her inhibitions, and apparently it also made her sense of humor worse, because she finds Raven’s awful pun funny. So funny, in fact, that she can’t help a small giggle. “It wasn’t bad,” she relents. “It was - the opposite of bad. Good. It was good.” 

“It was good?” Raven half-asks, half-mocks her, stealing another one of her spring rolls. This time, Clarke lets her, hoping she’ll give it a rest. Of course, Raven doesn’t. “When someone says it was good, it wasn’t good.” 

“That’s not a thing.” 

“It’s totally a thing.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, passing all of her spring rolls to Raven. “It was - it was amazing, okay? She was great. I didn’t - I did not think I would like it so much.” she’s stuttering, which means she’s well on her way to being drunk. Shit. She can’t blab to Raven about everything. It will be bad. For numerous reasons that she can’t seem to remember right now. 

She can’t tell her. But it’s so hard to keep it in. The only other person who’s in the know is one person she doesn’t want to see right now. 

“Gross, Griffin,” Raven hiccups. “At least wait till I’m gone to fantasize about your girlfriend. Geez.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Clarke says automatically. That’s right - because she already has a boyfriend. Only Raven doesn’t know about it. 

She's so sick of nobody knowing anything. Not even Finn. Definitely not Lexa. 

“Dude,” Raven sighs. “Talk to her. Sort it out. Tell her you wanna be exclusive.”

“Wait.” Clarke blinks. “I want to be exclusive?” 

Her friend rolls her eyes. Due to their inebriated state, the gesture is a little overdone, and Clarke giggles again. “Are you saying you don't?” At Clarke's silence, she nods. “You're so obvious, Griffin. I can see right through you.” 

The feeling of dread that pools in the pit of her stomach is instantly sobering. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean this,” Raven waves her arms at her. “This whole ‘I'm in love  _ and  _ denial’ thing. I know you, Clarke,” her voice grows quiet and serious. “You're falling for her, but you don't know if you can trust her with your heart - which, I get it, I mean, it's Lexa Woods. Her reputation precedes her. So you shut down and lie to yourself about your feelings. Don't do that. Talk it out. I can tell she makes you happy. Don't close yourself off from that, okay? You deserve it.” 

Clarke wants to laugh and laugh and laugh until there's no air left in her lungs. Raven’s got everything delightfully wrong. 

_ You’re falling for her, but you don’t know if you can trust her with your heart.  _ In another world, Clarke thinks, in another world, there’d be no other person she’d trust with her heart more than Lexa. 

The thought stuns her. 

“I trust her,” Clarke says. “I’m just not sure if she should trust me.” She should’ve saw it coming. She’s drunk and so she’s oversharing. That’s what got her in this mess in the first place. 

If she hadn’t told Lexa she’s never been with a girl before when she was drunk, Lexa wouldn’t have been so - so fucking gentle with her, and maybe she wouldn’t have enjoyed herself to the point of mistaking gratitude and relief for feelings. 

Raven’s eyebrows rise up. “What? Why?” a look of realization crosses her face then, and Clarke sucks in a breath. Raven is smart. Scary smart. What does it take for her to figure everything out?  “Oh, Clarke… Is this because you’ve never been with girls before?” 

Well. Partially. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not - I’m not sure about anything right now.” 

Raven nods. “Makes sense.” 

“And,” Clarke sighs, runs her hand through her disheveled hair. “And there’s Finn…”

“For the love of God,” Raven scoffs, interrupting her. “What does Finn have to do with this?” 

If you only knew, Clarke thinks bitterly to herself. 

“I don’t know,” she says. “We are trying to stay friends, and I - I haven’t talked to him since I, uh. Since I had sex with Lexa.” of course, saying it out loud makes it feel more real than it already is. It also sends a thrill down her spine that she hates herself for, and really, when does it stop? 

Does it? 

Raven’s frown is sloppy and confused. “So? You’re both busy people. I mean, you have med school and your dad and Finn’s got his dead-end job that he should quit.” Looks like Clarke’s not the only one who spills the beans when wasted. 

“That’s not it, though.” It pours out of her now, words stumbling over each other. “I don’t know how to act around him now. I don’t know what to say, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to look him in the eye after what I did.” 

Thankfully, Raven doesn’t pick up on her slip of tongue. “It’s your life and your heart, Clarke,” she says heatedly. “Not his.” 

“I know, but… if I feel this guilty - doesn’t that mean I still have feelings for him?” she needs a confirmation. Just a confirmation. 

And Raven’s not the woman for the job. “No,” she cuts. “That just means you’re too nice of a person. You fell out of love with him and fell for someone else - it’s normal to feel guilty about it.” 

_ ‘I cheated on him, so yeah, I’d say it’s pretty normal to feel guilty about it.’  _

“I’m sure he’s not thrilled either,” Raven continues, “but he’ll just have to deal with it if he wants to stay friends with you. Friends are happy for their friends when they are happy. Exhibit A,” she smirks, gesturing at herself.

Goddammit, Raven. “You’re right,” she says, because she suddenly wants this conversation to be over. “I’m overthinking this. Whatever happens, happens.” 

“That’s my girl,” Raven praises, taking a huge swig from her beer bottle. “Now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you changing the subject.” Clarke groans internally when she scoots over, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Spill, Griffin. I want details. Sex with Lexa Woods - how was it?” 

“Will you stop referring to her by her full name? It’s weird,” Clarke complains. But her attempt at deflecting doesn’t work this time. 

“Sure,” Raven agrees easily. “Now tell me all about sex with Lexa.” 

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to fuck her yourself.” 

“Of course I do,” her friend states matter-of-fact. “Have you seen her?” 

Clarke knows she won’t let up, and so she decides to finally satisfy Raven’s curiosity and be done with it before the conversation takes a weird turn - and it’s well on its way to it. “Like I said,” she sighs, “it was great. We made out, she carried me to bed-” 

“Ooh,” Raven gushes, but Clarke’s glare stops her. 

“Yes, she carried me to bed,” she rolls her eyes. “And, um, she fingered me and we fell asleep.” Fell asleep trading kisses and woke up the same way - but she doesn’t want to tell that to Raven. To anyone. She wants to keep it to herself. That night and the way it made her feel and the way her stomach coils, not unpleasantly, when she thinks about it now. 

If she says it out loud, it’ll make it more real that is already is. 

“Wow,” Raven deadpans. “You ever thought of writing a novel? If yes, please reconsider.” 

“Well I’m not about to tell you what her fingers inside me felt like,” Clarke snaps, only realizing her grave mistake when Raven’s eyes light up even more than they already were. 

“You know I have to ask now.” 

“They felt great,” Clarke says expressionlessly. “I came.” 

“Again, about that novel…” 

“Raven.” Something in her voice sobers her friend up, it seems. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Raven offers after studying Clarke’s face and finding something worth of apology. “I’m just happy for you. I guess I’m too excited. I’ll dial it down a notch.” 

“Thank you.” her eyelids feel heavy now. With her stomach full of food and her mind hazy with beer, all she wants is to crawl under her blanket and pass out. 

Her blanket probably smells like Lexa. Like them. Why didn’t she wash her sheets after Lexa left? 

“Clarke?” Raven’s face is slightly guilty, still. “Can I ask one last question? Nothing pervy, I swear.” 

She sighs. “Shoot.” 

“You said she - did stuff to you.” Raven is always like this, she thinks to herself adoringly. Whenever things get serious, she can’t make herself be as crass as she is in lighter situations. “Did you return the favor?” 

She really knows just what to ask. “I - no,” she shakes her head. “I didn’t. She didn’t let me. She said we didn’t have to do everything the first time. And - you know she’s been avoiding sleeping with me because she thought I wasn’t ready?” 

“Aw,” Raven coos. “That’s so sweet. It must’ve been killing her. I mean, I hope so.” 

“It was. Killing her. She told me that before we… you know.” 

“Right.” her friend clears her throat. “So you’re both okay with you not… reciprocating?” 

What a question - Raven’s on fire tonight. “She says she is,” Clarke swallows. “I don’t know how I feel about it. She’ll expect things from me next time, and I don’t - I don’t even know what to do. How to… How to make her feel as good as she’s made me feel,” she finishes quietly, pretty sure her cheeks are bright red - her face feels blazing hot. 

Raven’s got a tiny smirk playing on her lips, and Clarke wants to smack it off. “You have Internet,” she says. “Do your research.” 

“I’m not gonna watch porn. Plus, Lexa says most of it is super fake.” 

“Ah, so she did watch it at least once.” 

“Rae,” Clarke looks at her pointedly. “Everyone’s watched porn at least once.” 

“Don’t burst my bubble, Griffin.” Raven downs her beer before scooting even closer and draping an arm around her shoulder. Her eyes grow serious and sober as she gently squeezes Clarke in her hold. “And I think you don’t have a reason to be nervous. From what you’ve told me, Lexa gets it. And there’s no shame in asking for help either, okay? Let her guide you next time. Oh, and don’t be upset if you can’t make her come at first.” 

“You ever thought about becoming a motivational speaker?” 

Raven laughs and ruffles her hair, making her huff. “Shut up, Griffin. You know you love me.” 

“I do.” It’s nice to be confident about some of her feelings, at least. It’s nice that some things stay the same. 

She passes out on her bed curled up next to her snoring best friend, and tonight’s a rare night when she can feel like herself again, even if she’s not really sure who that is anymore. 


	8. Chapter 8

She doesn't see Lexa until next weekend. It's midterms, and Clarke really needs to up her studying game if she wants to pass at least one course this semester. She's already dropped two. She can't afford to drop any more. 

 

Raven would argue that, as Lexa Woods’ girlfriend, she now could afford to do whatever she wanted, but Clarke doesn't have the audacity to ask Lexa for anything that's not about her father. It would make things more personal than they already are.

 

And, when Lexa comes to pick her up on a Saturday for a surprise date and her fingertips tingle with pleasant anticipation, there's no doubt in her mind that things are even more unnecessarily complicated than she's thought. 

 

(She hasn't picked up any of Finn’s calls. By the end of the week, he's stopped calling.)

 

“So,” she whispers into Lexa's lips when they finally part after a long, slow kiss. It's the ‘I haven't seen you all week and I missed you like crazy’ kiss, and Clarke is still stunned at who she's sharing that with. “Where are we going?” 

 

Lexa needs a second before she can open her eyes and rasp out her reply, and Clarke's not going to lie. It's still as empowering as it was when she realized she had the power to render Lexa this weak. 

 

(It's a dangerous power, and she let it get to her head for a while. But not anymore.) 

 

“I hope you like popcorn.” 

 

“I don't,” Clarke smirks. “But I do like movies,” she adds laughingly when Lexa's expression becomes one of lost, almost childlike confusion. 

Lexa only rolls her eyes and presses on gas. She's driving them herself - it's something she does more and more often when there are only two of them. Clarke guesses that now that she's more open to intimacy, she doesn't want anyone to intrude. Especially not Gustus, since Clarke has a feeling he doesn't like her very much. But, maybe, Gustus doesn't like anyone. 

 

Like Anya. 

 

Clarke cringes and chases the thought away, instead focusing on the warmth of Lexa's hand in her own. 

 

// 

 

“Did you like the movie?” Clarke is way too smug for someone who just got fucked in a movie theater. Or maybe she's just the right amount of smug. She wouldn't know. It's kind of her first time. For all of his obnoxious smirks and innuendos, Finn’s a pretty tame guy when it comes to sex. And all of her casual relationships before him were mostly restricted to her college room. 

 

Lexa is a lot of firsts. 

 

Lexa's also rolling her eyes at her, fondly. “It was mildly entertaining,” she says quietly, raising Clarke's knuckles to her mouth and gently pressing her kiss-bruised lips to them. “I must admit I was rather preoccupied with… things.” 

 

“Things,” Clarke echoes. She's pretty sure her smile looks stupid. Smitten. Her panties are uncomfortably wet and her legs can't quite function properly yet, but she's strangely okay with it. “Is that what I am to you?” 

 

“Of course not,” Lexa immediately says, leading them to the exit. Clarke can't even remember the name of the movie they were supposed to watch before she took Lexa's hand in hers and guided it under the jacket she strategically laid out on her lap and her lips were pressed to the side of Lexa's neck and their breaths mingled in the dark as she gasped into her mouth over and over and over- 

 

She bites her lip, clinging to Lexa's elbow harder. “Good to hear,” she says. “I got another question, though. Is, um,  _ this  _ why you took me to the movies?” She arches her eyebrow at Lexa, smirking as she slowly trails her fingers down her arm until she reaches Lexa’s slender ones, still a little sticky with her essence. Turns out having a girlfriend isn't that different to having a boyfriend in certain aspects. 

 

Lexa blushes, but squeezes her fingers back. “No,” she says, swallowing. “I'm not - that wasn't what I had in mind. I wanted to see a movie with you. That's all.” 

 

“Sorry for ruining it for you, then,” she smirks wider. 

 

Lexa presses a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Shut up.” 

 

“Any other public place you’d like to touch me inappropriately?” Clarke keeps going, laughing when Lexa playfully growls, and barely dodging her when she tries to catch her in her arms. What do they look like to bypassers? Just another happy couple in love? The thought flashes through her head as she runs out of the theater, Lexa hot on her heels, both of them giggling like teenagers. 

 

She huffs when Lexa tackles her to the nearest snowbank, minding their fall so that she’s the first to land, with Clarke on top. “Really?” 

 

“You started it,” Lexa counters, a smile on her face. On anyone else - Finn, for example, Clarke thinks before cursing at herself - the smile would seem mild, almost small. On Lexa, it’s huge. Brilliant. She can’t help but stare at it, raising her hand to smooth her thumb on her cheek - something she only realizes she’s doing when she catches Lexa’s gaze, as soft as the falling snow. 

 

It’s been snowing a lot lately. 

 

She knows she’ll always associate snow with Lexa from now on, and she doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Probably the latter. This story can’t have a happy ending. 

 

Lexa leans up and softly catches her lips, gliding her hands to the small of her back, rubbing small soothing circles. 

 

(Can’t it?) 

 

They trade small kisses at red lights and Lexa gently declines when Clarke asks, with a coy smile, if she wants to come up. She watches her drive away, and she stands there long after Lexa’s beautiful black car takes a turn and disappears. 

 

Snowflakes land on her cheeks, and she catches one with her tongue, feeling its momentarily cold before it melts. 

 

Finn doesn’t call that night, either. 

 

//

 

“Dinner was delicious.” 

 

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Clarke huffs, taking a plate from Lexa’s hands and wiping it before putting it in the cabinet. “I’m a decent cook.” 

 

“You’re a great cook,” Lexa corrects, stealing a quick kiss. It burns pleasantly on Clarke’s lips, travels down to her navel and lower, lower, before she shakes her head and scowls at herself. Settle down, Griffin. 

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” 

 

“I distinctly remember flattery getting me in a lot of places,” Lexa purrs, stealing another kiss, this time slower, more pronounced. She welcomes Lexa’s tongue in her mouth, perhaps, just a touch too enthusiastically for someone who’s been avoiding her boyfriend after cheating on him. Multiple times. And very likely to cheat again. 

 

But Finn’s words cut deeper than she’s thought, and now - now she’s too far gone, with Lexa and everything, to be ready to face him anytime soon. 

 

She’s honestly not even sure she still has a boyfriend. But she does have a girlfriend, however fake it might be on her part, and she decides to focus on that. 

 

“Right,” she arches her eyebrow at Lexa, licking her lips and smirking inwardly when green eyes follow the movements of her tongue. “Except that wasn’t flattery. I distinctly remember you avoiding sex with me at any cost.” 

 

Lexa’s blush will never cease to amaze her, she thinks. “I had my reasons.” 

 

“They seem silly now, don’t they?” Clarke whispers, gliding her lips up Lexa’s neck. She nuzzles her nose under her jaw, greedily inhaling her scent that’s become familiar to her over the course of these months. God, it’s been months of dating Lexa. Letting her hold her hand and kiss her lips and finger her in a movie theater. 

 

Okay, the last one was mostly her own doing. 

 

Months of doing everything a couple does without exactly defining what it is they are doing. 

 

‘Talk it out with her,’ she remembers Raven’s words. And - it’s not that she wants them to be exclusive. Of course not. It’s that she  _ needs  _ them to be that. She needs a guarantee that Lexa won’t run off with another pretty blonde and forget all about her and her father, leaving that in Anya’s hands - and Clarke shudders to think of what Anya’s capable of. 

 

Being girlfriends isn’t being wives, of course, and Clarke doesn’t have any illusions, but it’s more solid than an occasional romantic hook-up - and she has a feeling that’s what she is. 

 

She hopes she’s about to be proven wrong. 

 

Lexa stutters at her earlier question, meanwhile. “I don’t - I don’t think waiting was silly,” she whispers. Clarke’s tongue makes a hot, wet path up to her ear. “Maybe a little.” 

 

Clarke grins. “I have a question before we continue,” she rasps, enjoying the shiver that runs down Lexa’s spine from the sound of her voice. 

 

“Of course.” They’ve long since forgotten about the dishes left in the sink, and Lexa hastily wipes her hands with a kitchen towel before tugging Clarke close, leaving a trail of small kisses on her neck. “Anything.” 

 

Fascinating - it’s not any easier in a fake relationship. “Are we, um,” she clears her throat. “What are we doing, exactly?” 

 

Lexa’s lips still. “I’m sorry?” she distances herself so she can look Clarke in the eye, who swallows and looks down briefly. Yeah. Not any easier at all. 

 

It’s fake. Why is her heart beating so fast? “I mean - are we dating? Seeing each other? Are we exclusive?” 

 

Lexa’s green eyes grow serious as confusion replaces desire in them. “Of course we are,” she says earnestly. “I thought… I thought it was implied. I’m sorry for not clarifying it sooner,” she offers, her thumb under Clarke’s jaw. Same thumb travels down her neck, to its nape, and long fingers play with small hair. “I genuinely thought you knew I… I consider you my girlfriend. Have been for quite some time now.” 

 

Clarke’s face feels hot, and she knows that if she were to look in a mirror, she’d find light pink coating her cheeks. “Oh. Well, good. That’s good. That’s, um,” she gives Lexa a quick, shy smile. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” 

 

“We are dating,” Lexa nods. “I’m your girlfriend. And you’re  _ mine _ .” Clarke’s not sure she likes the sudden quiet emphasis on the word ‘mine’, and she doesn’t get the chance to really study the emotion that Lexa’s eyes flash with before it’s gone. 

 

But then, Lexa’s lips are on her own, hot, demanding, and she’s seeking entrance Clarke’s ready to grant her, and her mind goes blank. She’s vaguely aware of her fridge pressing into her back as Lexa presses her into it, urging her to lift her legs and wrap them around her hips. 

 

Are they seriously making out against the fridge? Isn’t Lexa, like, twenty six? 

 

There’s a certain thrill to it, though, Clarke has to admit. A hot body, both hard and soft, pressing up against her, the only thing holding her up and preventing her from falling. Insistent lips catching moans that escape her of their own accord, and hands - stupid, talented hands, one of which has already snaked down her front and is working on popping the button on her jeans open. Lexa’s grown much more confident since their first night together, and it was only a week ago. 

 

She thinks her behavior last night had something to do with it. The way she silently demanded release from Lexa… So shameless, so wanton - yet it was lighting her on fire as much as Lexa’s kisses. And the way Lexa just as silently complied, only once seeking her eyes in the dark of the movie theater, patiently waiting for her nod before her slender fingers undid her jeans and slid inside, gathering wet heat. 

 

Like right now. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa pants in her ear before biting the earlobe just as her index finger starts circling her clit. “You’re so wet for me already.” 

 

Clarke’s only response is another moan, swallowed by Lexa’s greedy lips. If Lexa presses just a little bit to the right- if she slips inside, strokes upwards- if… 

 

“Clarke, I’m - oh, shit.” 

 

This is not Lexa’s voice, Clarke has time to think before she’s quickly but gently set on the floor, her jeans done back up in record time. Then, Lexa turns to face the intruder, shielding Clarke just slightly. 

 

Finn gapes back, his coat open and his cheeks red from the cold. He looks like he ran here, through wind and snow, and his slack jaw doesn’t make his disheveled appearance better. 

 

Oh, shit.

 

She should really learn to close that door. 

 

“Finn,” Lexa states blankly. “Hello.” Her face is a stoic mask when Clarke steals a nonplussed glance at her. She clears her throat and straightens, her posture rigid. 

 

“Miss Woods,” Finn mumbles. His eyes are flicking between them, and Clarke winces when they fall to Lexa’s glistening fingers. It only becomes worse when Lexa notices and casually clasps her hands behind her back. “I - hi. Hello. I’m… I didn’t mean to interrupt, I…” His gaze stumbles into Clarke’s, and he flushes further. She’s not so sure it’s because of cold anymore. “I should, probably…” He says, just as Lexa voices the same thought. 

 

“I should go,” she offers, mostly to Clarke. She turns, facing her, and she can see a tiny shadow flash in her eyes. “I wasn’t aware you knew one of my employees,” she tells her in a hushed, tense voice.  

 

Clarke swallows. “He’s - don’t leave, Lexa. I need to tell you something.” 

 

The look in Lexa’s eyes clearly asks ‘you think?’, but she doesn’t say anything out loud, only nodding and resuming her stance beside her. 

 

She glances at the man in her doorway. “Finn…” 

 

He shakes himself out of his stupor, blinking. “I’ll go,” he nods, more to himself than anything. She’s never seen such pure shock on his face, and the thought - the almost knowledge - that shock will soon be replaced by devastation drives a knife through her heart. 

 

But she can’t choose him. Not right now. 

 

“I’ll call you,” she mouths to him just before she closes the door. 

 

“Goodbye, Finn.” 

 

“Goodbye, Miss Woods.” And then, the door closes, and Clarke presses her forehead against it, just for a second, to gather her thoughts. 

 

“He’s the ex.” Lexa’s words are clear and loud in the sudden silence. Well, fuck. She’s even smarter than Clarke’s originally gave her credit for. That kind of mind can be deadly. 

 

Both to her and Finn. 

 

“Yes.” She turns to face Lexa who’s already slipped her CEO persona on. Clarke marvels at how quickly Lexa shuts down, and she can’t help but wonder if this is a taste of what she’ll get when Lexa finally, inevitably finds out the truth. 

 

She has to admit, though. Lexa discovering she dated one of her employees is pretty bad, too. 

 

“I see,” Lexa comments lightly, but Clarke is already shaking her head, all the while hurriedly coming up with yet another plan. 

 

When does it fucking end? “No, Lex,” she breathes, walking back to where Lexa stands, unmoving, like she’s carved out of stone. “You don’t see anything. Please don’t jump to any conclusions.” 

 

She expects a lot of things, but not Lexa’s confused gaze. “Clarke,” she says, her tone a touch warmer than before. “I think you’re the one doing precisely that. I’m not jumping to anything. I’m just…” and then there’s that muted red coloring the tips of her ears again, the sight Clarke’s not quite used to, still. “I wasn’t expecting to be seen by someone from work like… this.”  she clears her throat, and there’s a small, sheepish smile hiding in the corner of her lips. “It’s not exactly a… professional setting.” 

 

“I hope not,” Clarke says. “It would imply things rather unflattering to me.” she purses her lips, then, thoughtful. “Or very flattering. Really depends on how you look at it.” 

 

So that’s what it all was about. Lexa’s not suspecting her of anything. She’s simply embarrassed. And apparently embarrassed at having to admit she’s embarrassed. Ugh, those CEOs are way too complex for Clarke. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa’s smile is wider, and there’s a wave of relief flowing through Clarke’s heart, painting it red. “How did you come to know Mr. Collins?” 

 

Clarke snorts. “I’m sorry,” she chuckles when Lexa raises an eyebrow at the sound. “It’s just - I never thought I’d hear someone call the guy who attempted to walk on air while stoned ‘Mr. Collins’.” 

 

“You obviously go way back,” Lexa notes. “Either that, or I should call for drug screening again this month.”  

 

“First one,” Clarke hurries to say. She doesn’t need Finn to be fired because of her. “We met in college.” 

 

“That is a long time.” 

 

“Yes. Um, maybe - let’s move this to the couch?” Clarke offers. It’s a little easier to breathe knowing Lexa is standoffish because she’s merely flustered at having her employee see her with her hand down someone’s pants, and not because she’s about to (rightfully) accuse Clarke of conspiracy with Finn against her. But it’s still uncomfortable standing here, where just minutes ago they were walked in on by Finn. 

 

Lexa nods, and Clarke smiles at her when she tentatively takes her hand while they walk to the living room, even though it’s a short walk. Her living room is basically the continuation of her kitchen. 

 

“So,” Lexa says once they settle down, facing each other. Clarke watches as she folds one leg and smoothly sits, her body long and graceful. Focus. “You met in college.” 

 

“We did. And - obviously, I knew he worked in your company. I - maybe I should’ve told you my ex worked for you, but I didn’t want to make it weird. Yes, I realize how stupid I sound,” she lets out a heavy sigh, leaning into the couch. 

 

Lexa smooths her thumb across the back of her hand. “No, I understand that,” she says. “I think I would have done the same.” 

 

“No you wouldn’t have.” 

 

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” Lexa fires back, quoting Clarke’s words from a month ago. Her small grin takes out the sting, and Clarke finds herself weakly smiling back. 

 

“Maybe.” 

 

Lexa visibly hesitates before asking her next question. “Were you still with him when you… When you met me?” 

 

Should she lie? “Yes.” Apparently not. “When I met you, we were on the brink. I think we just ran our course, you know? And, you were right. When you said that sometimes, some things aren’t fated. Aren’t meant to be.” 

 

Lexa’s gaze is even. “Yes. And some things are.” The quiet conviction in her words sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine. 

 

“You really believe that, do you?” Clarke asks curiously. “Fate? Do you believe in soulmates, too?” 

 

“Haven’t really thought about it,” Lexa confesses. “Then, I met you.” 

 

“You’re such a sap,” Clarke whispers, grinning, and that gets her a light shove at her shoulder as Lexa pretends to pout. 

 

“And you can be an ass sometimes.” 

 

Clarke gasps. “How dare you.” 

 

“You’ve called me worse,” Lexa points out. That full grin from yesterday is back on her face, and Clarke can almost feel the snowflakes melting on her skin. 

 

Great. Now they have their thing. That thing that’s all about them and no one can touch that and all. Snow and gloves and warm kisses on cold lips. This fake relationship feels more real than all of her college ones combined. 

 

Except Finn, of course. Because he’s still hers. She loves him. 

 

“That’s because you deserved it,” she smirks. Lexa only hums in response before leaning in and giving her a kiss. drastically different from the ones they shared in the kitchen. Not hot but warm; not rushed but slow; not desperate but yearning, and for more, but simply for each other. Clarke kind of hates how Lexa can make any moment perfect. She mentioned that once or twice, didn’t she? 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers when they part, slowly, unhurriedly, resting foreheads against each other’s with affection. “I can’t help but think about… Did I have anything to do with your breakup with Finn?” 

 

No, but you might, Clarke thinks wryly before scolding herself. “I would have broken things off with or without you in the picture,” she says. “I don’t know why it lasted as long as it did. Maybe because I thought all relationships are supposed to be like that. Love fizzles out and all that’s left is comfort. You’re used to each other, and you just go through the motions together. Have scheduled sex and make each other breakfast you’d rather feed to a dog you don’t have because he’s allergic.” She shrugs, and when she swallows, she tastes the salt of her unshed tears. “I thought that’s how it works for everyone, that’s how love works - you’re simply okay with his presence in your life. No fireworks, no butterflies. Nothing.” Lexa’s eyes are the prettiest shade of green when she leans back in, that damn scent surrounding her. “Then, I met you.” 

 

The atmosphere changes swiftly, but not unexpectedly, and Clarke is more than a little surprised at the heavy, pure want deep in her chest. Her boyfriend just saw her make out with another woman against the fridge. What’s wrong with her? 

 

What isn’t, she thinks and surges forward, meeting Lexa halfway in a kiss that becomes deep and heated right away. They are a mess of lips and hands and limbs, and she grins into Lexa’s mouth when she feels deft fingers under her shirt, already working on her bra. She finds she likes how sure Lexa is. 

 

Of course, mostly because it’s beneficial to her. 

 

It becomes not quite enough soon, with this small distance still between them as their lips seek each other out over and over again, both of them too busy kissing to change their positions. Clarke decides she wants more. She contemplates tugging Lexa on top of her, but then she thinks back to last night in the movie theater. How intoxicating it was - to have complete control over Lexa’s actions despite her being the one to drive her fingers inside her. She had control over the situation. She was the one to grab Lexa’s hand and practically shove it down her pants. 

 

She wants to feel that again. 

 

Lexa gasps when Clarke licks into her mouth, determined, confident, before swinging her leg over her lap and slowly sitting down, straddling her. Both of them moan when Clarke’s hot center comes in contact with Lexa’s pelvis. 

 

Okay, she didn’t think it through completely. She should’ve taken her jeans off first. Now, it’ll just be awkward. 

 

But Lexa’s eyes are practically black with how blown her pupils are, and her lips are puffy and red and so, so fucking pretty when she tears her mouth away from Clarke’s to lock her gaze with hers. Still looking at her, she urges Clarke to slowly stand up, as if reading her thoughts, and smoothly slides her jeans down her legs, leaving kisses on her thighs. Soon, Clarke’s standing between Lexa’s spread knees, only wearing her panties, a shirt, and an unfastened bra underneath. 

 

Lexa’s breathing quickens, grows even heavier, when Clarke hooks her thumbs under her own panties and tugs them down, too, slowly stepping out of them, all without breaking their eye-contact. 

 

“Clarke.” Her name is a moan, a plea, a fucking prayer all rolled into one as it falls from full lips, echoes in dark eyes and a smoldering gaze. Clarke wants to be devoured by it. Consumed until there’s nothing left but pure pleasure she knows Lexa’s capable of bringing. 

 

She can’t remember the last time she’s wanted someone this badly. 

 

“I’m here,” she whispers and climbs back in Lexa’s lap, quietly crying out when fingers gently probe at her entrance and tease her clit. “More,” she half-begs, half-orders, and Lexa doesn’t deny her this. She thinks Lexa won’t deny her anything, and that knowledge is as terrifying as it is intoxicating. 

 

Maybe Anya is right. Maybe she does hold the power to break her. But, Clarke realizes with a sudden clarity, that’s the absolute last thing she wants to do. 

 

Lexa coos in her ear when she enters her, slowly, two fingers at first. But she needs more. Craves it with her entire being, and so she reaches down and blindly finds the third finger before urging Lexa to slide it inside her as well, throwing her head back when she does and letting out a loud moan. She finally feels full, and she only needs a second to get used to that feeling of being spread. Lexa doesn’t move, watching her with eyes as dark as the night outside Clarke’s window. She’s waiting for her, Clarke realizes. This is her giving up control. To her. 

 

She has to stop being so perfect all the fucking time, Clarke thinks with sudden annoyance, and that annoyance gives her strength to keep going. She raises her hips, slowly, moaning when she feels Lexa’s fingers slide out of her. Then, she brings them back down, and of course Lexa curls them right on time, in just the right way, grazing the spot on her front wall with just the right amount of pressure. 

 

This time, she doesn’t raise her hips. She rolls them instead, slowly riding Lexa’s hand. Her own hands are gripping Lexa’s shoulders, because her head is spinning and she’s pretty sure she might fall off if she doesn’t have something to hold on to. Lexa’s other arm around her waist helps, too. 

 

“Fuck,” she curses when Lexa’s fingers graze that spot again and don’t stop. Holy shit. She almost laughs when Lexa gasps against her lips. It’s almost as if Lexa’s feeling good too. 

 

Is she that invested in Clarke’s pleasure? When Lexa moans in response to Clarke’s cry, she has her answer. 

 

It makes everything feel even better. ‘ _ It’s a little weird _ ’, she thinks. ‘ _ It seems like I’m fucking her, yet she’s the one fucking me. _ ’ “God, Lexa… Please,” Clarke’s not even sure what she’s asking for. She just knows that pleasure is spreading through her body, the waves more and more powerful, and she feels herself clench around Lexa’s fingers almost constantly now. She just needs something more. Just a little push. Something- 

 

Lexa kisses her on the lips, once, tender gesture a sharp contrast to what Clarke’s doing to her hand, and then, her thumb is on Clarke’s clit, sloppily flicking up and down. 

 

Clarke feels her eyes roll back in her skull, and after that it’s pure bliss spilling through her veins. 

 

“Lexa!” She screams, Lexa’s shirt clutched in her fists as she stills, legs trembling on either side of Lexa’s hips. “Fuck!” 

 

She’s drifting in and out of it, feeling her orgasm flow through her, and so she doesn’t even realize Lexa lifts her up and places her on her back until she’s looking up at her face, eyes wild and wide open. “Fuck, Clarke,” she pants, her hand still between Clarke’s spread legs, her fingers still moving inside her, bringing her new waves of pleasure. “I can feel you throb around me.” 

 

That only makes her throb harder, and she widens her eyes, astonished. Clarke’s not a stranger to multiple orgasms - but most of them have been brought to her by herself. 

 

Lexa’s very eager to change that, and Clarke can only moan again as those damn fingers keep stroking, getting her higher and higher while Lexa straddles her thigh, and she gasps when she feels heat radiating from her. Lexa’s still wearing her pants, and God, it must be uncomfortable with how wet she is. But Lexa keeps them on when she rides Clarke’s thigh. 

 

This time, they come together, and Clarke doesn’t know if she comes from the look in Lexa’s eyes or Lexa does from the look in hers, and, when Lexa’s beautiful lips part to release a string of quiet, heated moans, she thinks she doesn’t care. 

 

She’s too busy hungrily taking in Lexa’s open mouth and brows furrowed in concentration and an almost pained expression as she reaches her peak while staring deep in her eyes. 

 

_ It’s the first time, _ Clarke realizes suddenly. She’s seen Lexa come for the very first time, and the sight takes her damn breath away. It’s beautiful. 

 

Lexa is beautiful. 

 

She didn’t know it was possible to miss her own orgasm, but she almost does, too taken with the woman above her falling apart. She’s only seconds behind Lexa, her own moans a little louder, her writhing a little sloppier - but Lexa likes it. Lexa gasps and shudders through her release and presses her lips to Clarke’s in a hungry kiss, exchanging cries of pleasure and praise. 

 

They stay like this long after they come down from their high, sharing kisses and breaths, swallowing small puffs of air the other releases. 

 

“I think,” Clarke says finally, after she’s somewhat caught her breath, “I think we need to get you out of these pants. Have them dry cleaned, too.” 

 

Lexa chuckles somewhere under her jaw, lips gently sucking on her neck before she answers. “It’s not that bad.” 

 

“It’ll be a huge blow to my self-esteem if it’s not,” Clarke chuckles. She feels spent. More than a little sleepy. All she wants is to crawl under her blanket and fall asleep.” 

 

And she wouldn’t be opposed to having Lexa under that blanket, either. 

 

“Oh,” Lexa says. “Then they are completely ruined.” 

 

“I can’t believe you dry humped me on the couch,” Clarke laughs, and when Lexa blushes and tries to get up, she gently grabs her face in both hands, giving her a sloppy, grateful kiss. “Hey. I’m sorry. I thought it was cute. And really hot.” she kisses her again, and this time Lexa kisses back.  _ Today, she’s had enough embarrassment to last her a year, _ Clarke thinks with unexpected muted tenderness.  _ I should probably go easy on her. _ “Stay,” she breathes out, quickly, hastily, suddenly overcome with fear. Of something. For something. “Tonight. Stay with me?” 

 

“Okay.” Lexa’s voice is quiet. Almost strangled. “Okay. Of course. Whatever you need.” 

 

“Stop saying that. It’s a relationship, not a dictatorship.”  _ It’s a relationship.  _

 

She falls asleep long after Lexa does, listening to her even breathing and studying the lines of her face, young in her sleep. 


	9. Chapter 9

She’s forgotten about that fact until recently but she called Finn first. Back in college, before they began dating, she was the one to punch in the numbers and wait, torn between hoping he’d pick up and contemplating throwing her phone away and moving to Ireland so he wouldn’t be able to find her. 

She remembers that feeling of nervous anticipation. She’s reminded of it, actually, as she paces in front of the university library and waits, waits for him to pick up already so she can talk, explain, hear his voice. Except now, that anticipation isn’t pleasant, and her heart isn’t giddy, but heavy with ache that’s not quite longing. 

And the worst part is overwhelming, all-consuming guilt in her chest that wasn’t there several years ago when she paced in her room and bit her nails waiting for him to pick up.

One thing hasn’t changed. Finn still takes way too long to answer his goddamn phone. 

A ring, another ring, and another, and she holds her breath when she expects yet another one but instead, there’s a brief pause before she hears a quiet sigh. “Hey.” he sounds like he’s trying to smile. 

She’s trying not to sob. “Hey back.” 

“I’m sorry,” they say in unison, and Finn chuckles on the other end. “I’m sorry,” he repeats softly. “I’ve been a giant dick. I fucked up, Clarke,” he lets out a shuddering breath, and she bites her lower lip, shaking her head. 

In this situation, who hasn’t? Lexa, she thinks, and stomps down on the thought. “So did I,” she whispers. “I didn’t choose you.” the confession burns in her throat. “I didn’t choose you, and I’m sorry.” 

“If it makes it any better, I get it. I did some thinking. A lot of it.” his grin sounds wry. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was angry and confused and… jealous, and I let it all get to me. But it’s not about me.” she hears shuffling before he speaks again. “I get it now. Completely. And I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Hell, I’ll go ring shopping with you if it comes down to it.” 

She laughs in spite of herself. “Let’s hope it doesn’t.” 

“You never know,” he chuckles. “You could do worse than Lexa Woods, you know. Me, for example.” 

“Finn,” she sighs, rubbing her face. She’s so tired. She’s pretty sure she’s failing her classes, her dad’s progress is slowing down, and she’s developing a mild case of insomnia, and she’s so, so tired. 

“Kidding,” he hurries to reassure her. “Sorry. I didn’t - I’m sorry.” 

“I think it’s time we stop being sorry,” she says. “It’s getting old.” She wonders if Finn is nodding right now, having forgotten she can’t see him. He does that sometimes when he’s on the phone - grimaces and nods and nonverbally makes his thoughts known before realizing the conversation he’s having solely depends on verbal communication. 

Just like she suspects, it takes several seconds before Finn hastily replies. “Yes. You’re right. But I still want to talk to you in person and properly apologize and then I’ll stop being sorry, I promise.” 

She doesn’t think she can make that promise. “I want that, too,” she says. “I - I miss you.” 

“I miss you, too,” he whispers, and there’s so much pure yearning in his voice. It makes her heart squeeze in her chest, once, painfully. 

She swallows. “I - before we do that, Finn, you should know that… I have to…” There’s no easy way to say this. “I need to date Lexa for another five months or so. Until the end of the experimental treatment. I can’t - I can’t risk my father’s well-being, Finn.” 

The silence that follows is tense, but brief. Barely two seconds. Finn’s voice is strong and confident when he replies. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. But thank you for doing that. I agree. With Anya suspecting something and Lexa knowing you and I know each other… We’re threading on thin ice here.” 

She lets the warmth wash over her at his use of the word ‘we’. He’s still here. 

(She’s not sure if she’s still here, but there’s certain comfort in knowing she’s not alone.) 

“Yeah,” she says, because what else is there to say? “We are.” 

“Can I - would it be okay if I came over tonight?” Finn asks tentatively. “I mean - if you don’t have plans with Lexa already.” He’s trying, he really is, she knows that. She believes that. But his voice still cracks at her name, and she only hopes tonight doesn’t end up being just like the night a week ago. 

“Yes.” She owes him that much. “I mean, yes, of course you can come over. I don’t have any plans.” 

“Okay.” the smile in his voice is bright, hopeful. “Does 8 work for you? I’ll bring pizza.” 

“Sounds great.” And it does, it really does, and she’s happy to realize she’s actually looking forward to spending some time with him. “Can’t wait.” 

“Great,” Finn parrots, before: “See you then. I love you.” the last phrase sounds more like a question. 

She hates it, but she can’t lie to herself - she hates that she’s not sure of the answer. Still, she forces a smile. “I love you, too,” slips from her tongue, easily, habitually. 

‘You get used to his presence.’

“Bye, baby,” Finn tells her gently, and she stands still as she listens to dialtone after he hangs up. 

//

She wakes with a start, and at first, she’s disoriented. There’s someone sleeping next to her. 

(It’s not Lexa) 

(Did she come to expect her?)

Finn. He spent the night. She puts the pieces of last night together like a shattered mirror, slowly, afraid of cutting herself. Finn. Wine. Tears. Hurried whispers and desperate hands tearing at clothes. 

Her bed. 

“Hey,” Finn mumbles behind her, and Clarke’s not even that surprised at her urge to shake his arm off. Instead, she lets him tighten it around her waist, tug her closer and nuzzle his face in her hair. 

“Hey,” she whispers back. “Time to get up.” 

He groans. “Five more minutes.” 

“Sadly,” Clarke smirks, “I don’t have them.” She rolls over, studying his face, his eyes still laced with sleep. “I have a class today.” 

He blinks the last of sleep away. “Isn’t it in, like, two hours?” 

“Yes, but I need to shower and get ready and do some reading before that.” She gently, but firmly pushes his hand away when it strays lower, down to her hips. “Finn.” 

“Alright, alright,” he huffs good-naturedly, giving her a boyish smile so she knows he’s not upset. “Wanna save some water with me?” 

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “We both know I’ll be late if we shower together.” 

“Damn right you will be,” he lets out a playful growl, but she’s too quick for him, still half-asleep. When he lunges, she’s already rolling over and getting out of bed. It’s a cold, grey winter morning; too chilly to be walking around naked, and so she snatches a robe from her chair and puts it on, ignoring Finn’s protesting groan. “Actually, you can sleep a little longer,” she notes. “I’ll probably take a while.” 

Finn only nods, and when she glances at him before closing the bathroom door, he’s already out cold, mouth slightly open and eyes closed. Tired, she thinks. He must be tired after last night. He was trying so hard for her. 

The thought doesn’t bring the usual satisfaction. 

She’s kinda losing track who she’s cheating on and with whom. 

Lexa’s never- 

-no you can’t compare them- 

She turns the shower handle further to the right, and the water becomes hot, almost scalding, washing away the last fragments of her thoughts. 

//

She barely stops herself from jumping when two arms wrap around her waist from behind and a warm body presses against her back. 

“Smells delicious,” Finn mumbles in her neck before nipping at the skin. He looks over her shoulder, watching her flip a pancake. “I missed those.” 

“I missed you,” Clarke replies on autopilot. Lately, she’s become a master at reading situations and knowing what they call for. 

She feels him grin against shoulder. “I missed you too, babe.” 

Lexa never calls me- 

-no please don’t do that you can’t-

She does jump, startled, when her phone rings. Finn’s lips find hers when she turns her head to ask him to get it for her, and she indulges him for a second before chuckling into the kiss. “Finn,” she mumbles. “My phone.” 

“Ignore it.” 

“It could be important.” She knows he can read her thoughts in her eyes when she tilts her head back to look at him. 

It could be Lexa. 

And, of course, that’s the name she sees when she glances at the screen. Lexa doesn’t sound like she just woke up. She rarely does. Except when it’s early morning and she’s soft and sleepy in Clarke’s bed, legs tangled with hers and- 

She hurries to swipe her thumb across the screen, picking up. “Hey. Let me guess - you’re in your office.” 

Lexa’s smile is palpable in her voice. “Maybe,” she replies, evasively. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Everything,” Clarke chuckles. “Normal people are still in bed at this hour, you know.” 

“Yes,” Lexa agrees. “And you’re already dressed and about to have breakfast.” 

“I’m checking my apartment for cameras later today,” Clarke informs her. She wants to sound stern, scolding, but her smile kinda gets in the way. 

“Oh, please do. Wear a lingerie while you’re at it.” 

“Perv.” She pours more batter onto skillet, waiting for bubbles to appear on it. “Seriously. How did you know?” 

“You have an early class today - or am I mistaken?” there’s a special, Lexa’s own brand of flustered worry in her voice that most people would miss. Clarke’s pretty proud she’s one of the few who can pick up on it. 

She blinks when Lexa’s words register in her brain. “Oh, I - yes. I do. I just - I didn’t expect you to remember.” 

“I don’t forget things.” 

“Everybody forgets things.” 

“I don’t forget important things.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes even though Lexa can’t see her. She can, however, hear her smile when she speaks. “Me having a class is important?” 

“Anything about you is.” 

“Oh God!” 

“...Clarke?” 

Clarke takes a deep breath to try and calm down her rapidly beating heart. Finn is perplexed next to her, looking like a lost puppy. Confused. She can’t blame him. He simply tried to hug his girlfriend. 

She’s the one who recoiled in fear when he touched her because - god, because she almost fucking forgot he was here. 

She throws him a quick smile that she hopes doesn’t look as forced as it feels. Mouths  
‘sorry’ and leans into him when he approaches again, tentatively. “I, uh, burned something,” she lies to Lexa, rolling her eyes at Finn’s quiet chuckles near her ear. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell.” 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for being this distracting,” Lexa smirks at her through the phone, and she probably really should find that obnoxious. 

“Speaking of distractions,” Clarke squirms in Finn’s arms when his hands grow bold. Too bold for her to continue talking to Lexa. “Shouldn’t you be working?” She turns her head to widen her eyes at Finn, silently telling him to quit it, but he only grins in response before his lips find her neck, gently sucking at her pulse point. 

It’s not fair. He knows her weak spots after so many years together. This is so not fair. 

It took Lexa less than- 

-no not now definitely not now-

“Probably.” Clarke imagines Lexa shrug. “Yes. I do have a reason for calling you this early.” 

“Yeah?” Finn’s hands make their way under her robe, blunt nails lightly scratching at her stomach while he continues to rain kisses down the side of her neck, and she wants to kick him as much as she wants him to keep going. “And what, um, what reason is -ah!” Quick teeth nip at her earlobe, and she scowls. “-that?” 

Of course Lexa notices. “Is everything okay?” 

She’d find her concern sweet if she weren’t too busy trying not to moan as her treacherous body reacts to Finn’s calculated touches. 

(Lexa’s voice in her ear isn’t helping either.) 

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she says quickly, pushing Finn away. Not strongly enough, it seems. He doesn’t stop. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, actually. Sorry.” 

“Oh. I’ll make it quick. I wanted to invite you to join me for lunch. More of a brunch, really. It’s a small get-together with friends, and I-” she tries to focus on the way Lexa’s voice cracks and not on Finn’s fingers. “I thought you’d like to meet them.” 

Well, fuck - this is significant and she should sound more enthusiastic, but - goddammit, Finn. “I’d love to,” she says evenly, gritting her teeth. Finn’s breathing is erratic in her other ear as his growing bulge brushes against her backside. Oh, he’s not getting any for this stunt. “Count me in, I’ll be there. Lex, I really gotta go-” 

“Yes, of course,” Lexa hurries to say. “I’ll pick you up around eleven.” 

“Can’t wait,” she utters and promptly hangs up. Immediately following that, Finn lets out a strangled groan, rubbing his stomach where Clarke elbowed him. 

“Ouch,” he says pointedly. She ignores it. 

“Seriously?” she stares at him incredulously. “It couldn’t wait?” Annoyance replaces her unwilling desire, crawling under her skin. Lexa’s not stupid. Wrong word, wrong sound, and she’ll finally grow suspicious. 

She wants to push him away when he comes up to her, gathering her in his arms, but she still lets him, letting out a huff. “Don’t do that again,” she warns. 

He presses a kiss to the side of her head. “I won’t. I thought it’d be fun. It was kinda fun, though, wasn’t it?” he grins at her. 

“Not worth Lexa finding out about this,” she replies. Ridiculous. He’s her boyfriend, and yet, it’s like they are the ones having an affair behind Lexa’s back. 

Finn rolls his eyes. “She won’t,” he scoffs. “You give her too much credit sometimes.” She tries not to flinch when he nuzzles under her jaw. Previous desire, sticky and unwanted, has left her completely, and all she wants is to get dressed and leave. 

This isn’t right. Doesn’t feel right at all. “Oh no, mister,” she pushes at his chest, this time strong enough to make him step away, and her eyebrow arches when she looks down for a brief moment. “This one’s on you, so it’s all yours to deal with. I’m gonna be late.” 

“Or you could skip,” he drawls suggestively, but she dodges him when he tries to scoop her up. 

“Or you could go take a cold, cold shower.” She turns the stove off, dumping the pancakes onto a plate. “And hurry. They’re barely warm.” 

It hits her only when Finn finally retreats with an obnoxious wry smirk. She’s going to meet Lexa’s friends today. 

(Dread grips her heart in an iron grip when she realizes Anya’s going to be there, too. She’s not someone Clarke’s looking forward to see any time soon.)

Well, shit. Now she needs to change her outfit. She’s so going to be late. 

She’s never attending any of Lexa’s social functions ever again unless Lexa directly threatens to literally cut her father off. To say this is a disaster would be an understatement. 

Of course, it could be worse, she reasons. Indra could be throwing actual daggers at her instead of the ones she gives with her eyes. 

Also, she’s a little bit mad at Lexa because Lexa forgot to mention that her friends were also the most influential people of this city after Miss Woods herself. Clarke looks around the table and suppresses the urge to gulp in awed fear. 

Her gaze inevitably lands on Indra Young first. Ironically, the woman is the oldest at the table. Forty five, to be exact - Clarke remembers that from when she looked Lexa up and her business partners popped up on the search page. She doesn’t quite look her age in person - her figure is slender and fit, and her gaze, while cold, is full of youthful fire. She’s a beautiful woman, Clarke thinks, with her rich brown skin and strong jawline. Indra is Lexa’s chief financial officer, which basically means she runs the company when Lexa’s not there, or so Finn says. A Harvard graduate, a trusted adviser of Lexa’s late father, and the owner of the coldest glare Clarke’s ever seen, Indra is definitely not someone she wants to piss off any time soon. Although that could be said for everyone at that table. 

Indra doesn’t seem to like Clarke’s inquisitive glance, however brief, so she hurries to take her eyes off her. The next person she stares at isn’t exactly a better choice. Lincoln Jones stares back, a familiar half-smile on his lips that lacks sincerity and warmth of his half-sister’s. Clarke’s surprised to learn the rumors are true - besides being an executive for several branches of their family business, Lincoln is also Lexa’s half-sibling, bonded by one mother. There is a reason people don’t believe it as readily. Three of them, actually. One - Lexa’s rather private when it comes to her family matters; two - no one dares questioning her about said matters further when she gives an evasive answer, if any at all; three - Lexa and Lincoln look nothing alike. Lincoln is tall, with skin a dark, deep shade of brown. His eyes are just as sharp, just as intelligent as Lexa’s, but their color is not green but black, vibrant and alluring. He is, of course, very handsome, just like everyone at the table - as if they weren’t intimidating enough to begin with, Clarke thinks with frustration. An impeccable charcoal suit, most likely tailored, and a fresh white shirt - she wouldn’t be surprised if it was tailored, too. These people obviously take great care of themselves in terms of appearance. It’s easily the most exquisite group of people she’s ever found herself in. 

She’s never felt more out of place. 

Anya grins at her over the rim of her glass, and - really? An afternoon shot of whiskey? They aren’t without their vices, either. “So,” she says easily, but her smirk is nothing but wicked. “How did you two meet?” 

“Funny you’re the one asking that,” Lexa comments, just as faux-easily, her unreadable gaze flicking to the other two people at the table. She’s casually pointing out the fact that neither made any attempt to talk to Clarke besides uttering a greeting, quietly seething on Indra’s part and politely cold on Lincoln’s. Clarke wishes she wouldn’t do that. She’s perfectly fine silently chewing on her smoked salmon and trying to pretend no one is glaring at her hand in Lexa’s. Well, technically, no one is exactly glaring. Lincoln pretends not to notice, and when he does, the mild, judgmental disapproval is clear in his gaze - Clarke’s pretty sure that because he isn’t trying to hide it at all. Anya’s openly gawking and smirking her scary smirk, and Indra - what Indra’s doing is way past glaring. 

When she’s the one who speaks up after Lexa, Clarke mentally scolds herself for almost jumping in surprise. “Do tell,” she utters. “How did you two meet, exactly?” 

“By chance,” Lexa replies simply, her eyes meeting Clarke’s in gentle encouragement. And she’s still convinced it was a horrible idea; but she can’t stay mad at Lexa when she looks at her like that. It’s a power Lexa doesn’t know she possesses, and Clarke only hopes she never finds out. What a deadly weapon it could become. “I was very lucky.” 

“I bet you were,” Anya’s smirk disappears behind her glass when she takes a small sip. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lexa rolls her eyes, but a tiny smile still plays on her lips. Either she’s blind to barely muted resentment behind Anya’s grin, or Clarke’s seeing things that might not be there. But then, Anya sends a slow wink her way that’s nothing short of murderous, and Clarke presses her lips together, trying not to frown. What is Anya’s angle? Trying to fool Lexa that she approves of their relationship while taking stabs at Clarke? 

“And that’s not what I want to hear,” Lincoln says. It’s the third time he spoke today, and the stare he sends Clarke’s way is more impassive than Lexa’s when she slips her CEO mask back on. Clarke witnessed it once or twice when Lexa had to take a phone call while spending time with her. She doesn’t exactly transform - somehow Lexa manages to stay relatively true to herself in both states - but she does change. Sits a little straighter - Clarke didn’t know it was even possible; grows a little colder, becomes a little distant. Which is understandable, of course - she is on the phone, after all. But the thing that fascinates her the most is the way Lexa’s eyes slowly turn unreadable until there’s nothing but vibrant green. And lately, she’s noticed it takes Lexa a couple of minutes to come back to her. Clarke’s started to wonder if there are any problems, but Lexa doesn’t really wanna talk about work when they’re together. 

She realizes she’s basically daydreaming about Lexa while Lexa’s right there when Anya speaks up again, jostling her from her thoughts. “That’s right,” she snickers. “There are children present. Gosh, Lexa, mind your tongue.” 

Lexa’s smile grows bigger, and Lincoln’s becomes a little warm. “You know very well that this is not what I meant,” Lexa repeats herself. Her thumb swipes across the back of Clarke’s hand, the movement tiny, almost non-existent, but Clarke notices, and there’s a small smile on her face now despite feeling unwelcome. Being near Lexa helps. Her words, her smile, her hand in Clarke’s - she doesn’t even remember how they came to be holding hands in the first place - her entire presence helps, a lot, and she’s too uncomfortable to question her only salvation. 

Unfortunately, Clarke isn’t the only one who notices Lexa’s little gesture. Both Lincoln and Indra briefly close their eyes, no doubt hiding an eye-roll, before looking to the side, and even Anya’s smirk dims as she locks her jaw. Well. Tough crowd. Just her luck these are people she absolutely has to win the most points with. 

It’s probably time she act like it, so she clears her throat and puts on a smile that she hopes doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “We got caught in a snowstorm,” she says. God, she felt absolutely miserable that night. Her plan almost fell apart, but Lexa came to her herself. “Got stranded in a tiny coffee shop in the middle of nowhere. She came over and offered me her coat and I kinda went off on her. She took it like a champ, though.” Clarke doesn’t notice her smile growing genuine at first as she stares at Lexa and lets memories wash over her. It seems so far away. So much has happened since that very first night. 

“That’s our Lexa,” Anya says with a straight face. “Taking it like a champ.” 

“Couldn’t resist, could you,” Lincoln mutters, grabbing a piece of toast. Anya only smirks at him in reply, the sharp edge gone. Right. Because that’s reserved for Clarke. 

“Well, to be fair, I did kind of deserve it,” Lexa says, her stare still locked with Clarke’s. 

“No, you… You didn’t. Not really.” Clarke blinks, lowering her gaze to her plate briefly before looking up at Lexa’s friends. “Anyway, that’s how it went, in a nutshell. She introduced herself, and now we’re here.” 

“What an accurate depiction,” Indra comments, and it takes Clarke a moment to understand what she’s getting at. Of course. ‘She introduced herself, and now we’re here’ - but what Indra’s heard was ‘I heard the name Lexa Woods and spread my legs for those millions of dollars’. Well, technically, she’s not wrong. 

Several thousands of dollars per day. 

“Well, Clarke is an artist,” Lexa says, and if there’s a little bit of tension in her tone, nobody comments on it. 

“Oh,” One of Indra’s impeccable eyebrows goes up. “An artist. Does she design handbags?” 

“I’m in medschool,” Clarke says. Indra’s comment isn’t particularly hurtful. It wasn’t even meant to cut deep, probably; but it still does. Not the words. The delivery; the execution, if you will. The way those people judge her without knowing anything about her, and yes, the fucked up thing is they are mostly right, but she cares about Lexa. It hits her. Why their attitude hurts beyond simple fear for her plan. She’s come to genuinely care for their friend. Probably more than she should. Definitely more than she’s willing to admit for now. 

So, it hurts, both her feelings and her pride - and she still has some of it. Enough to stop sitting there and simply taking their contempt. “I’m in medschool,” she repeats, a little louder this time. Indra’s face grows void of any emotion as she sits perfectly still, waiting for her to finish. “Drawing is an escape and something I’m damn good at, much like school and soon, hopefully, saving lives.” She looks around the table again, shaking the fear off. Lincoln still appears mostly disinterested, but Anya - Anya’s ditched the sly grin, and instead, there’s unreadable intensity in her gaze as she studies Clarke. “You know what else I’m good at? Calling bullshit. I’m sorry,” she offers to Lexa, and it’s genuine, both in sound and in feeling. “But I don’t think I want to pretend everything’s fine. You are so ready to write me off as yet another dumb blonde after your friend’s money when you don’t even know anything about me. And I get it, I really do - you’ve seen it before. But I also want you to get this - I don’t have to prove myself to you. She’s the only one whose trust I want to earn.” 

Lexa’s eyes are impossibly tender and warm when she turns to look at her, trying not to notice rage bubbling in Indra’s gaze. “This doesn’t change the way I feel about this. You. I’m not…” she lets out a shaky sigh, suddenly nervous. “That’s not why I’m here,” she finishes quietly, hopefully. 

Great. Now they have the catchphrase, too. Clarke wouldn’t even be surprised if someone wrote a musical theme for them at this point. 

“I know,” Lexa murmurs back, tenderness of her gaze seeping into her tone. “She said everything that needs to be said,” she tells her friends sternly. “I will see you tomorrow.” With that, Lexa stands up, offering a hand to Clarke who’s gaping at her. “You coming?” she asks, an impish grin on her lips. 

Clarke doesn’t look at astonished faces of people she was stupid enough to piss off, and she doesn’t think she cares. “Hopefully,” she says lowly, making sure Lexa’s the only one who hears as they walk away from the table and out of the restaurant. 

Lexa laughs. “Clarke.” 

“Oh come on,” she grins back. “You totally meant it that way.” 

Lexa’s eyes are sparkling, endless green. “Maybe.” 

It’s a little difficult to kiss when both of them are smiling this wide, and they end up laughing in each other’s mouths between trying to kiss as Gustus drives them away. Clarke only pulls away to ask Lexa if she could tell him to drive to her apartment. 

“Don’t you have a class later today?” 

“This is more important.” 

Lexa chuckles. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think I’m in the right mood right now.” She steals a quick kiss. “Plus, I must disagree - sex is not more important than school.” 

“But you are.” She chooses to pretend not to notice the quiet, awed astonishment on Lexa’s face when she leans in to grin in her neck. It’s so warm in here, with Lexa. She kinda dreads getting out of the car, in the biting cold. December hasn’t been very kind to the city. “Besides, I wasn’t talking about sex. You’re about to get quality girlfriend experience for literally standing up for me back there.” 

Yes, she does realize she sounds like an expensive hooker, but hey, that’s kind of what she is anyway. But Lexa doesn’t say anything about it. She continues to look at Clarke with that vulnerable, gentle spark in her eyes that sets off the coiling in Clarke’s stomach, tight and uneasy. “Okay,” she simply says. 

“Okay,” Clarke echoes.

// 

“This is the treatment?” 

Clarke pauses the movie and looks up to raise an eyebrow at Lexa. “Any complaints?” 

Lexa chuckles. “Oh, God no,” she says with mock seriousness. “I would never, but I must admit - this is not quite what I was expecting.” Clarke watches as she lifts the corner of the blanket they have draped over them. “It’s much better.” 

“Of course,” Clarke says in a ‘duh’ tone. “Anything is better with ice cream and a Harry Potter marathon.” 

“You like taking risks, too, don’t you? What if I hated Harry Potter?” 

Clarke shrugs. “Then it would’ve been a decidedly less enjoyable experience for you,” she teases. “Oh, and I’d be single again.” 

“I say good riddance,” Lexa laughs, but something in her voice gives Clarke pause. There’s a serious note tinged with sadness, and she doesn’t want to pick up on it, but she still does. Whether she likes it or not, she’s kind of in tune with Lexa now, and the fact that Lexa’s usually not the easiest person to read makes it better. Worse. It makes it worse because she’s not - she can’t- 

“I want to apologize,” Lexa continues. “For their behaviour today.” 

“I don’t think it’s gonna be limited to today,” Clarke says, and Lexa nods as if to say ‘fair enough’. “I also don’t think you should be apologizing to me. I said it before, with Anya, and I’ll say it again. I get it. They do have reasons for this.” 

“Does it bother you?” Lexa’s gaze becomes inquisitive. “The rather… rich love life I’ve had before you.” 

“I - no,” Clarke says, because there’s no logical reason for her to be bothered by it. “But I don’t feel like talking about past loves right now.” 

“I only had one,” Lexa murmurs. Clarke didn’t even notice when they got this close. But Lexa’s smile is warm, void of hunger, and so she sighs and rests her head on her chest, smiling when she feels arms around her. “But okay. We can talk about something else.” 

“We don’t have to talk at all,” she says, raising her head to look at Lexa again. Should they have sex? It seems fitting. Yet, it doesn’t feel right. All she feels like is sitting here, surrounded by everything Lexa, warm and cozy when it’s so cold outside. Baby, it’s cold outside, she chuckles to herself. 

Lexa smiles. “Right. Or we’ll miss all the important parts,” she says, nodding at the tv. That’s not really what Clarke meant, but she has a feeling Lexa knows that; and this is her way of saying not tonight. And Clarke accepts that. 

“Exactly,” she says, and hopes her smile lets Lexa know she gets it. 

It’s another half an hour of cuddling and light touches and easy pecks before Clarke suddenly speaks up again. “Thank you,” she says, voice a little hoarse from the lack of use. “For today.” 

“I haven’t done anything worth of gratitude,” Lexa says immediately, as if she was waiting for Clarke to break the silence. Does she feel uncomfortable? 

Clarke puts that thought away to analyze later. “You chose me,” she states, quietly but strongly. That’s it. That’s why she couldn’t stop smiling in the car; that’s why she can’t quite keep her hands to herself while wrapped up in Lexa. She chose her. 

And she completely, absolutely doesn’t deserve it. The thought is like a bucket of ice cold water dumped on her head. Lexa just chose her over people who love her and care for her, all for a girl who’s using her. 

She’s suddenly overcome with disgust for herself. And the way she defended herself, caused a scene and essentially forced Lexa to make a decision she shouldn’t have had to make. The least she could do is keep quiet. Why didn’t she just keep quiet? 

“Clarke?” Lexa’s arms are soothing and scalding at the same time. “What’s wrong?” 

Everything. All of it. Just this morning, she was with Finn, and tonight, she’s with Lexa and - it can’t go on like this. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” she rasps, pressing closer to Lexa so that she doesn’t see her face. 

“Okay,” Lexa doesn’t sound like she believes her, but she clearly senses Clarke’s unwillingness to keep talking about it. “You have to know, Clarke, that in my position, I can’t promise to always choose you,” she says then, quietly, regretfully, and Clarke’s head snaps up, eyes locking with serious green. “But I can promise you that I will try my hardest to.” 

“I know,” Clarke whispers. “That’s enough for me.” That’s far more than she deserves, that’s for sure. 

Lexa chose her. Promised to continue to choose her. 

She has to talk to Finn, and she can only hope he’ll continue to be as understanding as he was yesterday. She can only hope, however in vain, that the talk doesn’t push him to do stupid things like their last fight almost did. But this one - this one is tough. This one is worse, for him, for them. 

Because, essentially, she’s about to break up with her boyfriend for Lexa. 

 

(She can’t shake the feeling that it’s something she should’ve done a long time ago, and she doesn’t know if it’s better for the plan, for Lexa, or for herself. She doesn’t know anymore.)  
.  
Lexa’s heartbeat is strong and steady under her ear.


	10. Chapter 10

Finn doesn’t take it well.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says gravely. “Lexa - she already knows we know each other, that we were together. She can’t dictate who you can and can’t be friends with.”

“Yeah, but we are not friends.” Clarke bites her lips. She didn’t feel right about doing this over the phone at first, but now, she’s almost happy. As happy as she can be, anyway. “Finn, I’m sorry. I really am, but we have to stop seeing each other while I’m with Lexa. It’s too dangerous. Yesterday, I almost - I’m afraid I’ll give it away.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

Finn is silent on the other end, and Clarke almost lets out a sigh of relief but then he speaks again, muted anger palpable in his voice. “You’re really doing this. You’re breaking up with me.” ‘Over her’ hangs in the air, unspoken, heavy.

“Finn, this is not a break up,” she tries again. He just wouldn’t listen. Why can’t he listen to her? He was fine last night. He promised to be there for her. “It’s a - a break, okay? I have to be with her for this to actually work.”

‘Please say you understand. Please.’

Finn scoffs. “Because she’s so faithful to you in return,” he mutters.

“What do you mean?” She blinks. “Do you know something?” The idea of Lexa cheating on her is - well, it’s hysterically ironic, all things considered. But it’s also so unfathomable to her. To think of Lexa cheating on anyone is incomprehensible, especially someone she cares about.

‘So you think she cares about you?’

“I - no,” Finn stumbles over his words for a second before fire is back in his voice. “But I know her. She’s not gonna be satisfied with you for very long, especially since you don’t…” he trails off before sighing with agitation, and doesn’t continue.

She freezes. He can’t mean what she thinks he means, because that would be low. So low. “Since I don’t what?” she huffs when he stays silent. “Since I don’t what, Finn?”

“Forget it,” he mutters. “Look, you made the decision, obviously. I’m not going to beg, but I need some time to… come to terms with it, I guess. Hope you understand.” His voice is distant, like it always is when he gets upset with her. And she gets it. She gets it, she fucking gets everything and everyone but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole.

She knows very well what he was about to say before, and she’s not going to let it go. “Since I don’t what, Finn? Since I don’t actually fuck her, is that what you were going to say?” His silence tells her everything she needs to know. “She’ll grow bored of me and find someone else, is that it?”

“You can’t expect her to wait for you forever, Clarke,” Finn points out. She doesn’t like this version of him. Sometimes, it’s almost as if there are two people residing in his body, and when the real Finn, her Finn, with a boyish grin and kind eyes, is too tired to keep going, this Finn takes over. And it’s like Finn snaps.

Except they are one and the same. It’s all Finn. The good and the ugly. Once upon a time, she thought she’d never stop loving all of it.

She wonders what Lexa’s ugly side is like.

She wonders if her own is better or worse than she thinks. “Of course,” she says slowly. “But who said anything about forever?”

Finn’s voice is even. “What?”

“I told you, Finn.” He said he understood. He said- “I have to be with her. That means being with her. Because you’re right - I can’t expect her to wait for me forever.” Would she? “Sooner or later, I will have to reciprocate.”

Finn lets out a choking noise before clearing his throat. He doesn’t say anything.

Clarke sighs. “I really am so, so sorry,” she whispers. “Take as much time as you need. Goodbye, Finn.” She waits for him to say anything back, but after several long, anxious seconds, he quietly hangs up.

It’s not a break-up, she thinks. It’s not, it’s not-

Why does it feel so much like one?

She hates herself for it, but, as she listens to the dialtone, she can’t help a small, childish, incredibly selfish thought that Finn was supposed to be there for her. That he chose his pride and feelings over her. Again. And she hoped so, so much that he’d choose her.

Lexa, at least, gave her a warning that she can’t fully make that promise.

//

Something Finn’s said has struck a chord, however empty the conversation has left her. She needs to do something about her situation with Lexa. She can’t keep taking without giving, and Lexa must be getting tired of either riding her thigh or using her own fingers to achieve release.

Not that Lexa herself has mentioned anything. She’s been ridiculously sweet about the whole thing, but Clarke knows she’s expecting… things from her. She has to be. Everyone does. And even if she’s not impatient now, she will be soon.

The best defense is a good offense, so Clarke brings it up herself, when they lay in bed after sex - well, after Lexa fucking her, really. That’s the whole point. “I’m sorry,” she whispers into Lexa’s neck.

“What?” Lexa shifts under her, and Clarke imagines her expression to be that of perplexity. “Why?”

She wonders if Lexa’s playing dumb or if she actually doesn’t know what Clarke’s talking about. “Because I don’t… I don’t do anything in return.”

“Clarke,” Lexa tries to lift Clarke’s chin so she can look at her, but she doesn’t let her, choosing to stay burrowed in her embrace. She lets her be. “Don’t apologize for not being ready, please.”

“What if I never am?”

‘You can’t expect her to wait for you forever.’

Lexa’s words are quiet and sure. “Then you’re not.” She speaks again after a brief pause. “Could you look at me, please?”

“No,” Clarke mumbles into her neck. “You smell good.”

Lexa chuckles. “I’m all sweaty.”

“Exactly.” She sighs, but finally lifts her head up, finding Lexa looking at her. “I’m serious, Lexa,” she says. “We’ve been going out for months, and I’ve never… I haven’t made you feel as good as you make me feel,” she finishes bashfully.

This feels real. Too real.

She can see Lexa trying to hide an amused smile. “All this time,” she murmurs, “and you still have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” a gentle kiss pressed to the corner of her lips. “You make me feel incredible. Don’t ever doubt that, okay? This,” she cups Clarke’s cheek, “this is enough. More than enough. If you think you’re not going to be ready, then you’re not going to be ready. It’s up to you to decide what to do about it. I will never demand anything from you.”

This, Clarke thinks - this is where she should tell her she loves her, but that’s one line she’s not willing to cross. Out of all cruel things she’s done to Lexa, this one - she won’t be able to come back from.

She wonders if she’s talking about Lexa or herself. “I know you won’t do that. Of course I do.” Lexa’s skin is warm, if a little sticky with their shared sweat. “But I do want to be ready. I just don’t… I want you to like it,” the last part is said in a barely audible whisper. Clarke thinks if it’s time to stop lying to herself that she’s simply playing her part.

“I already like it,” Lexa says easily. “It’s with you.”

“No, Lexa - you know what I meant,” Clarke huffs, holding a sheet to her chest as she sits up, slipping out of Lexa’s arms. Sometimes, Lexa’s presence is overbearing. In another life, in another world, she would have found it sweet. Would have loved it. Would have loved her, perhaps.

But in this one, it only serves to remind her of her own terrible decisions she’s made. Was forced to make. Was she?

Behind her, Lexa sighs. “I’m sorry,” she offers gently. Clarke imagines her fingers hovering near her naked back, almost grazing her skin before Lexa withdraws them, not sure if she wants to be touched. “I’ve never really experienced what you’re going through. My first time was… We were young and impatient.”

Clarke turns her head to study Lexa who smiles back. She looks so comfortable in Clarke’s bed, leaned back against her headboard, naked shoulders and breasts on display. A sheet she has draped over herself carelessly slides down, revealing more of her taut stomach, and Clarke finds she wouldn’t mind nibbling at those abs.

She lifts her eyes back to Lexa’s face, not finding a cocky smirk there at having caught her so shamelessly checking her out. “Was it with that girl you loved? The one you mentioned the other day?” She asks quietly. That’s something she’s been thinking about, as well. They haven’t really discussed their exes. Clarke had, but she kind of had to. Last night was the first time she’s heard about Lexa’s, and it was in passing, briefly.

‘I only had one.’ So she’s been in love once before. Which one of those girls? Somehow, Clarke has a feeling it’s none of them.

Lexa shakes her head. “No,” she admits. “I met her later. That was purely about physical attraction.”

‘How fitting’, Clarke thinks darkly to herself.

Lexa continues. “I’m sorry that I can’t relate to your fear,” she says softly. “But I do understand. I can only tell you that I don’t expect anything from you, and if you decide to… I mean, um, I will help you through it.” She feels a smile tug at the corner of her lips when Lexa stutters with her words, visibly flustered.

  
“I know,” she whispers, leaning back to peck Lexa’s lips. “Thank you.”

//

“I can’t believe you let me think I was a good cook when you can do this.” Clarke stares, almost mesmerized, as Lexa expertly chops up an onion, the knife moving so fast and sharp she's half-afraid for those deft fingers.

Lexa lets out a soft laugh. “You haven't even tasted it yet,” she points out. “What if it's awful?”

“I doubt that,” Clarke mutters, still watching Lexa's hands at work. Figures they'll be good at anything, she thinks.

If Lexa notices her slight blush, she doesn't mention it. “It might be,” she says. “This is the third time I'm cooking this, so bear with me.”

Third time is truly a charm, because the meal turns out incredible. Clarke briefly contemplates whether or not having some more would be appropriate, but in the end she decides it doesn't matter. It's good - amazing - and life's too short to be worried about appearances. Especially when it's only Lexa.

“You tricked me,” she says accusatory, glaring at Lexa before taking another bite. “This is amazing. If it's really your third time cooking this, I'm even more bitter.”

“Well,” opposite of her, Lexa rubs the back of her neck, a little sheepish. “I - the first two times were for practice. I cooked this yesterday.” Light pink colors her cheeks, and Clarke knows that if she were to tuck chestnut locks behind her ears, she'd see the same pink on the tips, too. “Twice.”

Clarke really tries not to laugh, but this is too good. “No way,” she snickers. “No way you're serious.” She can't imagine Lexa - well , she actually can imagine Lexa constantly overpreparing for things, but for a date? With her? She didn't even have to cook. She could have just ordered something and called it a day.

Plus, there's no way she could become this good with a knife in a matter of days.

Lexa looks down at her plate, seemingly contemplating something before her eyes meet Clarke's again over the table. “I actually used to be terrible at cooking.”

Clarke wants to say ‘no way’ again, to laugh a disbelieving laugh because, again, she can't ever imagine Lexa being bad at something. But something stops her, and before she has a chance to try and understand what, Lexa's talking again. “I even burned toast,” she chuckles, the look in her eyes growing a little distant. “I didn't really need to learn how to cook. I didn't know I wanted to until - until someone suggested I try cooking classes.”

Clarke blinks. She doesn't know what she expected, but for some reason it wasn't this.

What is ‘this’, exactly? Lexa working hard to achieve something? She wonders, with a sinking feeling, if Finn’s tales really did get to her so much that she assumes Lexa simply has everything. Without putting any effort in.

She clears her throat. “And you were best in class, weren't you?”

Lexa smirks.

“I almost got expelled.”

This time, Clarke lets a disbelieving smile spread on her face, slowly, like the rising sun. “No. You can't get expelled from cooking classes.”

“You can when you set the class on fire.” Lexa chews for a moment. “And give people food poisoning.” She laughs when Clarke pretends to discreetly push her plate away. “I told you - there are many things I haven't mastered.”

“Maybe,” Clarke says, taking a sip of wine. “But your memory freaks me out a little. So what happened next? You said you almost got expelled. What made them let you stay?”

“Oh,” Lexa says nonchalantly, and Clarke nods. Right. She probably donated some money to them. “I had to beg the chef to let me stay. Learned a couple of French expletives before he agreed on several conditions.” Oh.

Clarke's curiosity peaks even higher. “What were they?”

“He gave me probation and I was to be supervised at all times,” Lexa says with an amused twinkle. “There was another one, but I'm not sure if he was joking or not.” A confused frown takes over her features for a second, like Lexa’s still trying to figure it out.

“It's not something… Illegal, is it?”

“Since I followed through, obviously yes,” Lexa laughs, ducking when Clarke throws a rolled-up napkin at her. “No, nothing illegal. He told me to stay away from his daughter.” She sips at her wine. “My reputation does preceed me.”

Clarke blinks. “Wow. Reputation or not, that was a very rude thing to say.”

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure he was joking,” Lexa chuckles. “His daughter was in our class, but we barely knew each other.”

‘Isn’t that enough?’

Clarke frowns, shaking off the thoughts that are, no doubt, a result of Finn’s earlier words. “Well, those classes certainly didn’t go to waste,” she comments lightly, glancing down at her plate. It’s an easy meal - chicken with vegetables, salad, and toasted baguettes with a spread Lexa made from scratch. The serving isn’t unnecessarily beautified, and the meal doesn’t look obnoxiously pretentious. There was no over-the-top presentation, and Lexa didn’t lecture her about wine for half an hour. It’s a simple yet elegant homemade meal that makes Clarke think of warm blankets and snowfalls and quiet kisses shared to quiet music.

She blinks again, rapidly, as if that will chase the thought away.

“I’m glad you like it,” Lexa replies, a small smile ever-present on her lips. “Compared to you, though, I’m not that good, considering.”

Unexpected to herself, Clarke flushes. “Well, uh, my cooking is… passable.”

“Any cooking classes you don’t want to tell me about?” Lexa teases lightly.

Her father taught her, actually, but she doesn’t want to bring him up when she’s with Lexa. And Lexa, after trying a couple of times, doesn’t ask. She’s pretty sure she knows everything about his state anyway. “No, not really.” That is some fine wine, she thinks as she hurriedly lifts the glass to her lips. It’s a little cold in her apartment, but alcohol helps her feel warmer. She knows it’s an illusion, though. Alcohol actually interferes with her body’s attempts to keep her core body temperature up.

An illusion.

Lexa’s still looking at her, like she usually does: without expectation. Simply taking her in, as if she can’t quite get enough. The silence starts to get to her, so she looks for a new topic of conversation. “Do you have any plans for the holidays?” she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

She doesn’t expect Lexa to cringe. “I’ll have to check my calendar but I’m pretty sure I have several gala dinners to attend,” she says, and for a second Clarke swears she hears a spec of frustration in her voice. “You could - join me, if you’d like.” Frustration is replaced by nervous anticipation, and Clarke can’t help but smile at her.

A gala dinner with Lexa. Isn’t that’s how it all was supposed to happen?

(There are so many things that were supposed to happen, and just as many that weren’t; but Clarke’s been finding lately that when it comes to Lexa, most of her plans fall through.)

She’s not sure she wants to go somewhere where Indra, Lincoln, and Anya will get to look down on her, all unfairly gorgeous and, admittedly, rather fairly judgmental. “I think I’ve had enough of social functions,” she says, mostly meaning it as a joke. But the guilty look that flashes through Lexa’s eyes makes her swallow and continue, hurriedly. “I’m just not - I don’t like crowds. Or dressing up. I just like… I just like you.”

Something is spreading through her chest, warm and not entirely unwelcome.

“Oh,” Lexa says quietly. “I - I like you, too. Certainly more than those functions,” she smiles. “If I didn’t have to attend half of them, I wouldn’t. So I get it.”

Clarke watches green eyes dim and thinks of Lexa standing in the center of yet another grand venue, suit clean and sharp and gaze distant. Tall and proud and alone, with people shaking her hand and smiling fake smiles full of fake teeths. She blinks. “I - my friends are going to rent a cabin, but I’m not going this year. I thought of getting takeout and watching Charlie Brown for Christmas. I don’t really celebrate it, but it’s nice to do something on a day off, I guess.”

“It does sound nice,” Lexa says without sarcasm.

Surprisingly, she’s fully aware of what she’s about to say. “You should come. If you want to. And if you can.” When she sees a shadow of hesitation on Lexa’s face, she presses on. “It doesn’t have to be Charlie Brown. You might get to pick the movie.”

The corners of Lexa’s lips twitch before quirking upward. “Might?”

“If you behave,” Clarke smirks, swallowing a mouthful of wine and enjoying the spark of hunger in Lexa’s gaze. That is some damn fine wine.

“Of course.” Lexa’s smile grows bashful, and Clarke’s chest feels full. So full it’s overflowing, but she doesn’t want to let it spill. “Thank you for inviting me, Clarke.”

That’s not an answer, though. “Is that a yes?”

(Which one does she want to hear?)

Lexa’s smile is reserved yet brilliant at the same time. “Yes,” she says. “I look forward to it.” So it’s settled, then. She’s spending Christmas with Lexa.

It’s a conflicting feeling, Clarke finds - realizing that she’s looking forward to it, as well. 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

“I’m sorry,” is what Lexa greets her with when she opens the door. “I’m not too late, am I?” 

 

 

Clarke smiles. “Considering it’s just the two of us, you’re just in time.” She swallows. Breathes in to keep her heartbeat even. Just the two of them. 

 

 

A spark flashes in green eyes that’s nothing short of joyful before Lexa shifts on her feet, awkwardly cradling a brown paper bag to her chest. “So…” 

 

 

“Oh! Yeah, come in,” Clarke steps to the side, gesturing for Lexa to enter. She’s not sure if the nerves running through her body are her own or a reflection of Lexa’s. Could be a combination of both. She hasn’t seen Lexa after their date night a week ago when she proposed they spend the holiday together, and she can’t lie about nervous, almost giddy anticipation coiled in her stomach as she lets Lexa in. This whole week was spent preparing for just one night. 

 

 

Lexa’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her coat is unbuttoned, hanging askew on her figure. She’s uncharacteristically frazzled as she stares at Clarke, not quite knowing what to do with her hands, and God help her Clarke wishes she wanted to ignore the tender pang in her chest at the sight. 

 

 

But she doesn’t. All she wants to do is laugh and mess up her wavy hair even more and make her chase her around the apartment until-- “Did you drive here straight from the gala?” 

 

 

“Yes,” Lexa immediately answers, clearly wishing to move past the awkwardness she thinks they found themselves in. “I stole a little something, too,” a muted, impish grin makes its way to her lips as she holds the bag up so Clarke can make out the outline of a bottle. 

 

 

She rolls her eyes and moves to help Lexa with her coat. “It hardly counts when you’re the one who paid for everything.” 

 

 

  
“ The _company_ paid for everything,” Lexa corrects her. She probably means to sound a little more stern, but Clarke doesn’t miss a hitch in her breathing when she moves in close to her. Presses her body into her back, for a fleeting second. Just to feel.    


 

 

It’s been a week, after all, and she’s never denied how good Lexa could make her feel. 

 

 

Lexa makes a smooth, gliding movement as she slips out of her coat, and next thing Clarke knows, they are face to face, much closer than she anticipated. She doesn’t want to take a step back. 

 

 

“Hey,” Lexa murmurs, tilting her head to the right. So close. Clarke watches her wet her lips, and the sudden, deep urge to be the one to do it for her is frightening. 

 

 

“Hi,” she whispers back. “I – I made dinner.” 

 

 

Lexa lets out a noncommittal hum, still studying her. She looks more confident now than mere seconds before. As if she’s absorbing Clarke’s, leaving her weak at the knees. 

 

 

“There’s chicken,” she continues, swallowing under Lexa’s unwavering gaze. “And meatloaf.” Lexa leans in closer while she talks. Slowly. Clarke doesn’t have the urge to recoil; instead, she watches her hands venture up to Lexa’s shoulders, feeling soft, pleasant fabric before winding in Lexa’s hair, just as soft and just as pleasant. “I hope you like it,” she breathes weakly. 

 

 

“I’m sure I will.” Lexa’s so close she can feel her breath hitting her lips when she replies. There’s just a hint of tobacco, and Clarke frowns, but before she can comment, Lexa’s mouth claims hers, and all she lets out is a tiny moan, right into Lexa’s lips. A moan that Lexa eagerly swallows, using the opportunity to swipe her tongue across her lower lips before meeting Clarke’s.

 

 

Somehow, a kiss that Clarke expected to be a greeting peck turns into making out in the hallway. At least she remembered to close the door behind Lexa, she thinks laughingly before Lexa does that thing where she licks into the roof of her mouth and she can’t think about anything else but this. Her knees actually give out when Lexa’s hands find her waist and travel up, under her breasts, and it’s only thanks to Lexa’s terrifyingly fast reflexes that she doesn’t hit the floor. She hits the wall instead, with her back and with Lexa’s body pressing into her, between her legs that are hooked around Lexa’s hips. She wasn’t entirely sure wearing a dress this short was a good call, but she’s ready to kiss herself for making that decision now, with Lexa pressing into her so deliciously. 

 

 

It’s all so, so wonderfully cliché, and Clarke doesn’t care. It doesn’t even register in her brain when Lexa pulls away and starts saying something. She simply latches on to her neck, and fuck, she smells so familiar and so good. With a moan, she nuzzles at the skin there before leaving long open-mouthed kisses up to that jaw she always wants to nibble. 

 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa’s voice floats through the haze, distant and amused. “Something’s buzzing.” 

 

 

“Huh?” She struggles to focus on Lexa’s face and not just on her lips. “I – what?” 

 

 

Lexa looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Something’s buzzing,” she repeats herself, smiling. There’s just a hint of smugness on her lips, and Clarke really, really wants to kiss it off until there’s nothing but desperate hunger. “In your kitchen.” 

 

 

  
It’s probably ridiculous and definitely pathetic, but Clarke struggles to remember what she was doing before Lexa came here looking like that and smelling like that and kissing – Jesus fucking Christ,  kissing . “Oh, it’s…” Cake. No. Cookies. “Cookies,” she finally forms a cohesive thought. Now string them together, Clarke. Come on, you can do it. “I put… Baked… It’s probably cookies.”    


 

 

That could be called relative success, right? 

 

 

Lexa’s smile is small but bright. “We should take them out,” she says. “They’ll burn.” 

 

 

Clarke wants to say that no, they won’t burn; that an oven turns off automatically after a minute; that the cookies will be perfectly fine while they resume greeting each other against the wall. But her head is light and it’s spinning and the buzzing has gotten kind of annoying and really, she doesn’t get much of a chance to voice any of it before Lexa easily grabs her under her thighs and carries her to the kitchen, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Clarke’s nearly-tortured gasp when her fingers knead at the flesh right near her heated core. Her lower stomach grows heavy with ache. 

 

 

“Stop it. I don’t want to drop you,” Lexa murmurs softly, with a smile, and that’s when Clarke realizes she’s trying to rub herself on her stomach. Blood rushes to her cheeks 

 

 

so quickly her head starts to spin harder. 

 

 

“I -- sorry,” she mumbles, hiding her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck. It’s been too long – except it hasn’t, has it? 

 

 

She thinks of weeks, months sharing nothing but kisses with Finn, long before Lexa, and blinks her thoughts away. “I guess I missed you even more than I thought,” she whispers in Lexa’s ear before tracing it with her tongue, enjoying the shiver it sends through her body. 

 

 

  
“ Clarke .” A clear warning and a desperate plea. Clarke smirks.    


 

 

“Please. As if you’d ever drop me.” 

 

 

She lets out an undignified huff when she’s dropped on a table, rather unceremoniously. “Hey!” 

 

 

“Look what you made me do,” Lexa grins down at her. 

 

 

“Woods,” Clarke almost growls. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.” 

 

 

“What makes you think I can’t – umpf!” Whatever Lexa’s about to say is swallowed by Clarke’s confident, forceful kiss, the last of their awkwardness fading in it.

 

 

// 

 

 

No matter how much Clarke wants to continue, preferably in her bedroom, she did slave over dinner tonight, and it’s getting cold. And, frankly, she wouldn’t have remembered it at all if Lexa didn’t pull away once again to breathlessly remind her. 

 

 

“Food first, Clarke later, I see how it is,” Clarke muttered, but complied, hopping off the table with Lexa’s help. 

 

 

“Food first, dessert later, Clarke, that’s how it goes,” Lexa replied cheekily, and Clarke would punch her if she didn’t want to kiss her. But she did want to kiss her. So she did. 

 

 

Now, they are seated across from each other, cutting their meals in pieces and pretending there’s no heated undercurrent running between them. She can see Lexa’s already regretting her decision to be noble and try the food Clarke made for her. Well, maybe she can’t exactly see that. Maybe she’s projecting her own frustration. Lexa’s very sweet to notice her effort, but with each passing minute, Clarke finds more and more that she doesn’t care if Lexa eats her food. She’d much rather she eat- 

 

 

“So,” she speaks up to drown out her obscene thoughts. “How was the party?” 

 

 

“Everything you’d think it would be, which is rather boring and very dull,” Lexa says before taking a sip of her wine and shoving another forkful into her mouth. “This is delicious,” she mumbles. Clarke snickers. “You know what they serve at those parties? Canapé. You know what that is?” 

 

 

“Not actual food?” 

 

 

“Not actual food!” Such passion coming from a usually reserved Lexa makes Clarke laughingly recoil. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten the whole day. Last minute preparations.” 

 

 

“Aw,” Clarke feels a slow smile take over her lips that’s just a touch too adoring to be fake. But, dear God, wasn’t she past lying to herself? 

 

 

She likes Lexa. She likes Lexa the person and she likes Lexa the lover and –- she’s so, so afraid to think of what she feels for Lexa the girlfriend. 

 

 

Lexa tries to scowl, but her gleeful chewing diminishes the effect. “Don’t laugh at me.” 

 

 

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m not, I swear,” she says after Lexa throws her a dubious glance. “I just – you’re cute.” 

 

 

“Pretty sure half of the people in this city would disagree,” Lexa smirks, but it’s soft as she puts her fork away and simply looks at Clarke. “But – thank you.” 

 

 

“Half of the people in this city are idiots,” Clarke bristles. Lexa’s inability to take a compliment without somehow undermining it is infuriating, but it’s not Lexa she’s angry with. It’s just – when was the last time Lexa was called cute sincerely? Beautiful? Incredible? Clarke knows her friends love her to death, but she doubts their relationship allows for such tender moments. She could be wrong. She’s been wrong about a lot of things, after all. 

 

 

She’s been so wrong about the turn things would take when she started all of this. 

 

 

Lexa blinks at her outburst. “Did I say something wrong?” she asks, and – fuck. Said in such a small, tentative voice, too – it tugs at Clarke’s heart, ache heavy and unpleasant. 

 

 

  
And she wants to soothe Lexa, she does; wants to reach out and tuck a chestnut lock behind her ear and whisper into her lips that no, of course not, everything’s okay, everything’s  perfect – but it strikes her, suddenly, that she doesn’t have that right. Doesn’t deserve that right.    


 

 

And, as usual, Lexa’s the one to bear it, Clarke thinks bitterly as she stands up, pushing her chair away. “It’s fine,” she says, more sharply than the situation calls for. “I – it’s fine. I’m a little tired, that’s all.” 

 

 

  
“You were fine –  actually fine – a minute ago,” Lexa softly says behind her. She stands up, too, wooden legs of her chair scrapping against the floor. “It was something I said.”    


 

 

And Clarke really, really doesn’t want to ruin this Christmas for Lexa. Except it’s already ruined, isn’t it? Lexa will find out, and she will look back and think about this night and feel nothing but crumbling betrayal deep in her chest. And she hates it. She hates it she hates it she-- 

 

 

Clarke turns, sharply, almost colliding with Lexa who steadies her. She opens her mouth to – push her away, she thinks frantically, half-mad, push her away, it’s not too late, it’s not – say something, but the words, half-formed, die on her lips when they hear a ringtone, almost deafeningly loud in the sudden silence. 

 

 

“Saved by the bell,” Clarke whispers – giggles, really, nearly hysterical. 

 

 

“What?” 

 

 

She shakes her head, and Lexa lets go of her elbow when she steps away from her. “I should take this.” 

 

 

It’s her mother, and what she tells Clarke hits her square in her chest, travels down to her knees and strikes; it’s only because she grabs the counter that she escapes sliding to the floor. And behind it all, behind her mother’s fast, blurred, excited words, behind her own loud, rapid heartbeat, she wonders what it must look like to Lexa. 

 

 

Lexa, who’s behind her in an instance, gently but firmly holding her up, arms around her waist. “Clarke,” she states, voice strong. Clarke realizes she hung up on her mother without saying anything. Then, she realizes she mumbled a ‘I’ll be there soon’ before ending the call. Then, she realizes Lexa’s still saying something. 

 

 

“-arke? Clarke!” 

 

 

She’s suddenly light. Enormously, endlessly happy for a quick, euphoric second before it ends and she’s left drained in Lexa’s arms. “My dad’s awake.” She turns her face to look at Lexa’s shocked expression. “Will you drive me to the hospital?” 

 

 

At Lexa’s stunned nod, tears finally come and don’t stop. 

 

 

//

 

 

Jake Griffin’s breathing machine is still on. There are still tubes all around his body, needles pricking his skin. He’s still weak and he can’t quite move; he certainly can’t walk. 

But he’s awake. Alive. Conscious enough to smile and talk and by some goddamn miracle his speech and his memory isn’t impacted much. There might be relapses, doctors said. White patches where a treasured moment once was, and some memories would take longer to come back. 

 

 

But, when he lights up at the sight of Clarke, disheveled and pale and crying, she decides it doesn’t matter. Nothing does but this. 

 

 

“Merry Christmas,” he tries to rumble before dissolving into a coughing fit, falling into her mother. She glances at her. Eyes just as red and filled with tears as her own. 

Lexa’s hand squeezes hers, once, gently, and she barely catches a strangled sob before surging forward, hugging – slumping into, more like it – her parents with all the strength she can muster. 

 

 

“Dad,” she cries. There are so many things she wants to tell him, so many things she wants to hear him say, but this is the only word that she’s able to push past her lips. 

“Dad. Daddy.” 

 

 

He can’t quite move his limbs as precisely as before. Clarke knows he needs months of intensive therapy before he’ll be able to do that. But when his hand lands on her back, heavy, awkward, stiffly moving up and down, she thinks she’ll take this over any other touch. 

 

 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and she’s not sure if it’s for her, for mom, or for himself. Maybe it’s for all of them. “It’s okay.” 

 

 

It was worth it, she thinks. It was all worth it. Anything is worth getting him back. Having her dad with her, with them, alive. And Lexa… 

 

 

  
Lexa .    


 

 

Clarke remembers about her at the same time Jake notices a new face fidgeting in the doorway. “Huh,” she feels his chest rumble when he speaks. “Finn’s sure changed since I last saw him.” 

 

 

“Dad,” Clarke hisses, rolling her eyes. This man, she huffs to herself. Nothing gets past him. Well, that, or he’s really hoping she got rid of Finn. 

 

 

Technically, he’s not wrong. “Hello, Mr. Griffin,” she hears Lexa say calmly. “I’m very glad to be able to greet you.” 

 

 

Clarke’s suddenly overcome with nerves as she scrambles to her feet, wide eyes flicking between Lexa and her parents. “Dad, this is – it’s Lexa. Lexa Woods. And – mom.” It’s striking to realize that she never introduced Lexa to her mother, either. “Mom, this is Lexa.” 

 

 

She can see surprise flash through her father’s eyes, but she’s relieved to find it’s free of disdain. “Woods, you say?” He smiles. “I’d stand up to shake your hand, but I’m afraid it will have to wait till our next meeting.” 

 

 

Lexa looks just as flustered as Clarke feels. “I – of course, sir.” At least her voice remains stoic. She takes quick, long strides, taking Jake’s hand that he offers, and giving it a small shake. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

 

 

Jake arches one eyebrow, and his smile grows. “Nice to meet me? You saved my life, kid,” he tells her warmly. “Your mom filled me in,” he addresses Clarke next, noticing her confusion. “Don’t worry. I have my own opinion.” 

 

 

“Jake,” her mom says warningly, but he laughs it off, still grasping Lexa’s hand. 

 

 

“Later, all that later,” he exclaims. “Miss Woods, I don’t know how our family will ever be able to repay you-” 

 

 

“It’s completely unnecessary, I assure you,” Lexa interrupts. Some of her confidence came back, and she stands tall and looks Jake straight in the eye when she speaks. “You were qualified for the program. You waking up is more than enough, sir. And, please, call me Lexa.” 

 

 

Clarke stiffens when she sees her dad narrow his eyes as he lets go of Lexa’s hand; the same hand that hasn’t let go of Clarke’s up until they reached his room. She knows that gaze. She remembers that gaze. That’s the gaze he gave Finn when he met him, and next words he said to him were “I don’t want to see you in my house.” It’s a studying, apprehensive gaze that determines a worth. 

 

 

And Clarke’s not surprised to find that she really, really wants him to see that Lexa has more than enough of it. 

 

 

“Well,” he says after what was probably not more than a second, but to Clarke seemed like an eternity. His face is unreadable, and something inside Clarke freezes, about to shatter. “Then I must insist you call me Jake, Lexa.” He lifts his hand again to grasp Lexa’s, and she meets him halfway, but it’s not a handshake anymore. It’s something more familiar. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “For taking care of my family. For taking care of my girl.” 

 

 

Clarke’s tears, thankfully, don’t block her view of Lexa’s stunned, beautiful face. “Of course,” she manages to say. “…Jake.” 

 

 

_He saw_ , Clarke thinks. _He saw her._

 

 

Her mother takes her hand, softly, quietly, and she reaches over and clasps her dad’s pale one in her other hand. She barely manages to mouth ‘wait for me’ to Lexa who’s quietly sneaking out before climbing in her mom’s lap when legs refuse to hold her up. 


	12. Chapter 12

“You’re not staying?” 

 

Clarke grins. “Lexa,” she gives her a pointed look. “This is your hospital. You know they don’t let visitors stay overnight.” 

 

Lexa grows visibly flustered, and she really should’ve seen it coming. “Oh, that’s - you’re right. Of course. I should’ve - okay, let me talk to Bob, and I’m sure we can make an excep-” 

 

“Lex. Lexa!” Clarke catches Lexa’s arm just as the suddenly frantic woman is about to run off somewhere. “It’s okay. It’s my mother’s shift, she’ll stay with him. I’ll come back here first thing in the morning. She let me look at his chart. He’s not in a critical condition and he needs his rest anyway. Plus, he told me to go get some sleep and he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” 

 

Lexa stills and turns, giving Clarke a careful, slow look. When a moment passes and she doesn’t say anything, Clarke shifts on her feet. “What?”   
  


She watches as Lexa shakes her head, losing the trance she seemingly found herself in. “Nothing, I just…” she blinks, coming closer to Clarke. Tentatively reaches out and brushes a lock of blonde hair away from her face. “Your smile is happy, and it’s… It’s very beautiful,” she finishes quietly. “And I’m so happy for you. For your father.” 

 

All Clarke can think - feel - of doing is leaning forward and resting her forehead against Lexa’s. Closing her eyes, knowing Lexa will do the same. She smiles wider when she feels Lexa’s long lashes graze her cheeks when she does exactly that.    
  
“Thank you,” she croaks out. “For everything. Lexa, thank you  _ so much _ .” she’s out of breath, almost completely, by the time she’s finished speaking, because - her dad’s okay. Alive. Breathing and speaking and able to squeeze her hand back, clumsy, sloppy, when she squeezes his. All thanks to Lexa. Yes, she knows that it’s another week or maybe even a month before they’d be able to tell if it really was the new treatment that helped or he did it on his own, but she also knows that it was the program that gave her her father back. The program and timing. If Lexa didn’t put his name in the first wave, there’s a good chance he would’ve died before the second wave of the program rolled around. 

  
Her plan worked. 

 

(She leans in and presses a soft kiss to Lexa’s lips just before Lexa begins to say she shouldn’t be thanking her, and maybe the plan didn’t work out quite the way she imagined, but when she feels Lexa start to kiss back, she can’t help but think that it’s not a bad thing at all.) 

 

“Shh,” she whispers when she pulls away and Lexa goes to say something. She’s not… She can’t say she’s entirely sure about everything between them, but - she’s getting there. She wants to get there, she thinks. But there are too many thoughts and feelings making her head spin, and she needs some time to make sense of it all. So she smiles. “Let’s go home.” 

 

//

 

How do you know you’re in love? The thought flashes through her mind over and over as she runs down the stairs that are so familiar yet so foreign. It’s been - how long has it been since she was here last? She can’t even remember. She’s sure she’d be able to if she tried. But she doesn’t want to. 

 

She drove over to Finn’s. Lexa took her home and held her till she fell asleep, but around two, she woke up with a start, and there was a text. From Finn. She didn’t even know how he found out about her father, but he texted her he was happy. And - she wanted to ignore him. She really, really did, but something stopped her. She thought, with a scared heart, that it was longing, and maybe it was. They shared a past. Memories. Love, even. 

 

So when he called her, two minutes after sending that text, she picked up. 

 

“Hey,” Finn’s strangled greeting was quiet, but to her, it rang loud, too loud with Lexa in the next room. “I miss you.” 

 

And she knew - she fucking knew it was a bad idea, so why did she climb out of bed, took his call and drove over to him? She missed him, she tells herself, now, sitting behind the wheel in her car. She missed him. He meant something to her. He still means something to her. 

 

But that’s not what he wants, and driving here was a bad, bad idea. She thought - she wanted to make it better for him, but she only made it worse. 

 

_ Story of my life _ , Clarke chuckles to herself bitterly and starts the engine. 

 

How do you know you’re in love? Clarke’s no expert, but perhaps she has something that resembles an answer to that question. Maybe. Maybe you know when you leave your fake girlfriend to drive to your kinda-ex-boyfriend in the middle of the night because he’s crying and you feel bad. And then, maybe, you know when you knock on his door and he’s drunk and pale and you feel worse, but not for him. Maybe, you know when you realize you never felt bad for him in the first place. You feel bad because you left your kinda-fake girlfriend alone on a Christmas night, and that’s all you really can think about while you half-listen to your ex-boyfriend’s slurred speech. And you know, when he tries to kiss you - you definitely know that’s not what you want, and you know when it hits you that it doesn’t matter if he’s drunk and a mess. That’s not why you don’t want to be here. That’s not why you never should’ve come here. 

 

You know - you know you’re in love when panic sets in and you think about her curled up alone in your bed. Waking up alone in your bed, confused and missing you and not knowing where you are while you’re here and why the hell are you still here? 

 

You know when you push him away and run till your lungs burn, and you sit in your car and listen to your heart calm down. Slower. Slower. Deep breath, skip a beat, and restart, full of this new knowledge that sits in your chest, heavy but not uncomfortable. 

 

And you know - you don’t even stand a chance when you come back to your apartment and tiptoe into your bedroom where she’s still -  _ thank God _ \- sleeping, cuddling your pillow. You know, because your chest hurts so bad and you never want it to stop. You know when you climb back into bed and she wakes up from the cold that you brought in and you know it when you think there’s nothing better than watching her blink the sleep away.

 

Maybe that’s not how you know you’re in love, but Clarke doesn’t really have anything else to compare it to. With Finn, she kinda expected it, because it was always expected. And maybe it makes her a terrible person - this and a million other things - but now that she knows, she’s not sure she was ever really in love with  _ him _ . Everything fades away under falling snow, and her past feelings seem so bleak she wants to laugh at how blind she’s been this entire time. 

 

She’s in love with Lexa. She loves her. She loves her and she wants to yell that at the top of her lungs and she never, never wants to stop kissing her. So she doesn’t. 

 

“You’re cold,” Lexa mumbles into her cheek, and Clarke wants to laugh. 

 

“I went out. I’ll tell you everything later.” She has to. But tonight - just tonight. She just wants this one night to unabashedly enjoy the knowledge and the feeling of being in love with Lexa. Enjoy Lexa. 

 

When Lexa finally wakes up enough to realize what’s going on and tries to roll them over, Clarke stops her. Revels in her own confidence and desire she doesn’t have to suppress and hold back anymore. “Let me… I wanna take care of you. Tonight. Can I - I mean, can you-” 

 

Lexa’s kiss tastes like hesitation, but Clarke knows it’s not about her and her abilities. “If you’re sure,” she whispers to her after gently pulling away, and Clarke does laugh this time. If only Lexa knew how sure she is. If only she knew how long Clarke’s waited for this without even being aware she did. And so, instead of answering, she shows her. 

 

“Just be with me,” she whispers in-between kisses, throat closing with emotion. Lexa’s warm and pliant underneath her. She suddenly wants her to feel how  _ needed  _ she is. Loved - without saying it, for now. She won’t feel right saying it when Lexa doesn’t know the whole truth. Yet, she tells herself. Not yet. 

 

But she needs Lexa to know how much she  _ craves _ her. 

 

Lexa’s abs quiver where her fingers travel to the waistband of her boxers, and she stills, searching her face. In the dark, her features are harsher, lines sharper, but her shallow breathing smoothes it out. 

 

Green eyes look back, wide and a little lost, and Clarke grazes the line of her jaw with her lips, ventures up to her open mouth. Kisses and kisses and kisses until there’s no air and both of them are breathing hard and fast, hearts fluttering in their chest. She wants to try a million things at one, but she knows she won’t be able to stop pressing her lips to Lexa’s. All of this is given to her so freely, with no expectations, and what an absolute fool she’s been- 

 

She finds Lexa slick and ready for her when her fingers slip underneath her boxers, and the way Lexa gasps in her mouth is nothing short of divine. She wants to record that sound and listen to it, all the fucking time. Wants to bottle Lexa’s scent and keep it all to herself. Keep her all to herself. 

 

She’s been holding herself back and denying this for so long, even half-knowing the truth. 

 

Finding the right rhythm is surprisingly easy. She simply watches Lexa as she bites her lip, rolls her hips up to meet Clarke’s fingers circling her clit. Lexa frowns when she ventures too far to the right and moans when she firmly rubs her fingers up and down; lets out an impatient sigh when Clarke slowly enters her with one finger and arches when she adds another one, stroking upward just like she does to Clarke. Her eyes fly open, shocked and pleading, and Clarke hopes her gaze is able to convey everything coiled inside her chest. 

 

Lexa’s not much louder than usual. She’s all breathy moans and sighs and intense stares, and Clarke loves everything she’s willing to give. She struggles not to let an ‘I love you’ slip out when Lexa’s moans grow just a little louder. When she feels her inner walls flutter; when she feels her seep through her fingers. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa breathes. Begs. “Kiss me,” and Clarke complies because if she doesn’t, she’ll yell about her love and she can’t do that yet. 

 

The way Lexa falls apart is almost shy, Clarke notes with wonder. It’s unusual - amazing - to hold her when she comes, Clarke’s fingers inside her and Clarke’s arm around her. Her hands clutching Clarke’s shoulders and her chest pressing into Clarke’s when she arches her back off the bed with a long, desperate moan before reaching down and stilling Clarke’s hand, keeping her thumb firmly pressed to her throbbing clit. Clarke files that away for future use - files every little thing away - and grins into the kiss, swallowing the sounds Lexa produces, hot and obscene and perfect. She wants to learn Lexa in and out. Wants to be the only person in the world who can make her feel this good, and it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t deserve it. Right now, in this bed, with Lexa trembling in her arms, she knows she’ll do everything she can and can’t do to become someone who deserves Lexa. If she’ll have her. 

 

Clarke pushes the thought away and kisses Lexa again, caressing her cheek and not asking why it’s wet.

 

// 

 

She wants to remember this forever: this slow morning and Lexa’s gentle kisses and snow softly falling outside the window. The sun is up, but it’s not visible behind the clouds, and everything is white. Clarke lies there for a while, watching the snow fall and smiling when she feels Lexa press another small kiss to her naked shoulder. She pretends to be asleep for a while longer; just enough to bask in the moment. 

 

“Merry Christmas,” Lexa whispers near her ear before nuzzling it, and she laughs, rolling over to look at her. 

 

“You knew I was awake, didn’t you?” She traces the lines of Lexa’s face as she speaks, committing it to memory. The urge to draw her is sudden and strong. Fitting, she thinks - she hasn’t held a pencil in months, and the first thing she’ll draw is Lexa. She wants it to be her. She wants hundreds of sketchbooks filled with nothing but Lexa. It’s so jarring, she muses absentmindedly. Just yesterday, she wasn’t sure about her feelings for Lexa, and today, she’s in love with her - but she knows that’s not how it works. She’s been falling her for a long time; has been in love with her for quite some time, too. It’s the realization that came late. But not too late. She hopes it’s not too late. 

 

She’ll tell her everything. Today. Later today, because selfishly, she wants to keep this morning after to herself, too. 

 

Lexa smiles. “I did,” she replies to Clarke’s earlier question. “Your breathing changes when you wake up and fall asleep. It’s not hard to tell.” 

 

“I’m still not sure if it’s creepy or sweet,” she lets Lexa know with a chuckle, nibbling at her jawline next and reveling in her small sighs. “How are you feeling?” she rasps, the implication clear in her voice when her fingers dance on Lexa’s naked thigh.

 

Lexa clears her throat. “I - um. I feel -  _ God, Clarke _ \- I feel great,” she’s almost panting when she finishes talking, and Clarke can’t help a smug smirk that spreads across her lips. 

 

“I’m glad,” she whispers into her skin. “We have to get up now, but when we come back, I fully intend on making you feel this great all over again.” ‘ _ If you let me after I tell you everything _ ’, she thinks with a lump in her throat. 

 

“I have no objections,” Lexa stutters, and Clarke laughs. 

 

// 

 

Her mother calls her when Lexa’s in the shower - she refused to let Clarke join her because ‘you and I both know we won’t make it in time’, and Clarke made sure to pout at her until she disappeared into the bathroom, laughing. 

 

“Hey, mom.” 

 

“Hi, honey,” her mother’s voice is young and vibrant on the other end, and Clarke feels her own smile grow. “Someone had a very merry Christmas, I assume?” she asks dryly, but not unkindly, almost making Clarke choke on air. 

 

“Mom,” she hisses, feeling her face grow hot. The shower’s still on, but she knows Lexa can be quick when she needs to. “That’s - you know what, I’m not going to dignify that with a response. We’re on our way to the hospital.” They can get breakfast in the cafeteria when they get there. She remembers the waffles being pretty damn good. 

 

There’s a tiny flash of disappointment in her chest because she finds she wants to cook Lexa a huge breakfast, but it can wait. 

 

“Actually,” her mom sounds apologetic, and Clarke feels her stomach grow cold. “About that. You don’t need to come here, not right now. He’s sleeping and I intend it to stay that way until lunch.” 

 

Clarke’s smile fades. “Oh.” But he just woke up. He’s been sleeping for the last three months. 

 

She knows her mother is right, however. First of all, she’s a doctor - not her dad’s doctor since that’s a conflict of interests, but she’s a damn good doctor and if she agrees with whatever his actual doctor recommends, then it must be the right thing to do. And she has enough knowledge herself to realize that’s not how it works. Her dad wasn’t actually sleeping these last three months. He was dying. Now, he needs his actual rest. He’s weak, and it’s normal. 

 

“Okay,” she says next, quietly. 

 

“Oh, honey,” her mom coos apologetically. “I know you wanted to see him, but you’ll have to wait just a little longer. We’ll see you at two, okay? Both of you,” she huffs, but Clarke’s happy to realize it’s mostly for show. “Your father talks more about Lexa than you do, I swear.” 

 

“He knows a good person when he sees one,” Clarke tells her mom proudly. 

 

Abby sighs. “Yeah, or he’s just happy she can’t accidentally get you pregnant.” 

 

“Mom!” Clarke finds it so outrageous she misses Lexa’s exit from the shower. “That’s not why!” 

 

“Sure,” a smirk is palpable in Abby’s voice. “See you soon, baby. Go have fun.” 

 

“Jesus,” Clarke mutters. “I’ll go before you say anything else and give me intracerebral hemorrhage.” 

 

“Oh I’m sure Lexa is-” 

 

“Bye, mom!” Clarke practically yells as she hangs up, tossing the phone away and slapping her forehead with an agitated sigh. Well. Better this than her hating Lexa, she supposes. 

 

“Is everything okay?” she hears, and lifts her head from her hands to look at Lexa. Wet, dripping, fresh out of the shower Lexa. She watches, transfixed, as a lone droplet of water slides down her neck, between her breasts, past her navel before reaching a towel Lexa loosely tied around her hips. 

 

God. It’s like she’s  _ sculpted. _ Or photoshopped.

 

“Clarke.” Her eyes flick back up, with certain difficulty, tracing plump lips curls in a small smile. “We’ll be late.” But she doesn’t miss the way Lexa lightly scratches at her abs and hooks a thumb under the towel, nonchalantly making it slide even lower down her hips, and fuck, that v cut looks delicious. 

 

Two can play at that game, she thinks and slowly pushes the sheet down her body, reveling in Lexa’s dark gaze as she rises to her feet, naked body on display. “Actually,” she breathes, “we were asked to come after two, so…” she bites her lower lip for good measure. “I’m not in a hurry. Are you?” 

 

Lexa only smirks and unties her towel, letting it fall to the floor. 


	13. Chapter 13

“I hate that we need to leave this bed.” She used to hate the way Lexa’s smile made her feel; the warmth she mistook for discomfort spreading through her chest. Too fast, too confusing. Unwanted. 

 

Now, she happily lets herself  _ melt  _ when Lexa’s lips stretch in a shy, small grin that grows under her fingertips tracing beautiful contours. “I strongly… dislike it.” 

 

Clarke only hums and leans up, pressing her mouth to Lexa’s in yet another kiss, unhurried, almost lazy.  _ Peaceful _ , the word springs forth in her mind. How many of those have they shared in the past two hours? Clarke’s both giddy and disappointed to learn she’s lost count. She wants to remember each and every one. It’s almost as if they just shared their first kiss, and Clarke can’t get enough. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa mumbles against her lips, and Clarke’s back arches at this because - they are kissing. In her bed. After making love for hours. “We’ll be late.” 

 

She whines, nuzzling at the soft, warm-smelling skin of Lexa’s neck. She wants to see her father, she does. But they have to wait till two and if they skip breakfast then maybe- 

 

“Fine,” she mumbles, hands resting on the small of Lexa’s back. “But when we come back…” she trails off at the apologetic look in Lexa’s eyes. “Or when we… don’t come back?” 

 

Lexa sighs, and Clarke marvels, with certain incredulity, at her body’s immediate response. Jesus, she thinks. It’s just a sound. 

 

But it’s not. It’s  _ Lexa, _ she blinks with awe. ‘ _ That’s what she’s doing to me, and I don’t want it to stop.’ _

 

She shakes her head, trying to focus on Lexa’s words and not on her lips. “Anya expects me tonight,” she says quietly, and Clarke wants to laugh because she sounds damn near  _ mournful _ . At leaving her, she realizes, and the feeling in her chest grows, warm and solid. 

 

She knows it’s childish, but: “Can’t you cancel?” 

 

“I’m afraid not.” Lexa huffs. “She was rather insistent when we spoke on the phone.” 

 

“Wait, when did you speak to her?” 

 

She marvels at the pink that spills across Lexa’s cheeks. “When, uh, when I left to get us water.” 

 

“Ah,” Clarke nods as if remembering. “Right after I took three of your fingers, you mean?” The question sounds innocent as she bats her lashes at Lexa, but it’s anything but. 

 

Lexa’s face flushes further. She clears her throat. “I - yes. Right after that.” 

 

“I can’t believe you’re still able to feel shame after everything you did to me,” Clarke doesn’t hold her laughter back as she teases her lover, enjoying her embarrassed smile and downcast eyes. Lexa Woods, the mighty CEO, is too adorable for her own good. 

 

“In my defense,” Lexa’s expression is stern, but her eyes are sparkling with laughter, and Clarke - she can’t wait to draw her. “You did things far worse.” 

 

It hurts, suddenly, deeply, and Clarke hopes Lexa doesn’t see it in her eyes. She did do things far worse. She’s started off using Lexa for her position, for her money. She intentionally went after her and made her fall in love with her, knowing fully well she would ruin her in the end. And the worst part is, that hasn’t changed. Even after unexpectedly falling for her, Clarke is still going to break her heart, but she can’t keep lying to her. Lexa has the right to know the truth. 

 

She only hopes that the truth won’t cost her Lexa, but if it does, it’s the least of what she deserves. 

 

“Hey,” Lexa’s whisper ghosts across her lips. “Where did you go?” 

 

She bites her lip, letting sharp pain wash over her and hoping it’ll stop tears from spilling. “I’m here,” she whispers back. Cups Lexa’s cheek and leans up, brushing her lips against hers. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

// 

 

She quickly understands why Lexa was so adamant about dragging her into the living room. They stumble into it, Lexa smiling against her lips as she walks backwards, weakly pushing her hands away - Clarke reasons it’s not her fault Lexa’s chiseled stomach is so irresistible.    
  
“Clarke,” Lexa half-scolds, half-moans into her mouth, hands tugging Clarke’s from under her white undershirt. “Stop wrinkling my clothes and look around.” 

 

“Why would I look around when I’ve got yo-” Her fair complaint dies on her lips when Lexa huffs and steps aside, circling her and gently grasping her shoulders, making her look ahead, and - if she weren’t already in love with her, she thinks this is the moment she would’ve fallen all over again. 

 

“I thought… I thought you’d be sad if your Christmas wasn’t… proper, this year,” she hears Lexa’s hesitant whisper near her ear. Feels calm, comforting heat radiating off her body where she’s pressed close to Clarke, firm front against her back. “I hope this is okay.” 

 

“Okay,” Clarke lets out a disbelieving laugh, blinking at the huge tree that wasn’t there last night. She doesn’t miss beautifully wrapped boxes underneath, either. Nor does she miss string lights adorning the tree and her walls, a little askew - looks like Lexa was in a hurry when putting them up. They look incredible nonetheless. 

 

It’s like Christmas threw up in here. Clarke loves it. 

 

“Come here,” her whisper is urgent, dripping with need when she turns to face Lexa, tugging her down by the front of her shirt. “Thank you. God, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” 

 

“ _ You’re  _ more than enough,” Lexa replies. It’s breathless and sweet, a little corny, a little wistful - it’s everything Lexa is, and Lexa is everything Clarke  _ wants. _

 

If she didn’t have a miraculously cured father to visit in two hours, she’d definitely have her way with the woman in her arms. But, as difficult as it is, she forces herself to pull away when the kiss deepens, because she knows that if she doesn’t, they’ll never leave the apartment. 

 

“I take it you like it,” Lexa rasps out, and her cheeks are that faint red Clarke adores so much. 

 

“I do, but,” she glances at the tree, frowning. “I don’t - I thought we said no gifts. I didn’t get you anything.” 

 

“Well,” Lexa chuckles. “You kind of did.” At Clarke’s inquiring stare, she falters. “I mean - back there. Last night.” 

 

“Lexa,” she starts, failing to hide a huge, amused smile. “Are you implying sex with me is a gift?” 

 

“Forget I said anything,” Lexa mumbles into her neck, clearly embarrassed. “Just get me two gifts next year or something.” 

 

Clarke’s smile is loud and free, and she doesn’t let her heart drop at Lexa’s casual mention of the next year. 

 

_ Will you still have me next year? _

 

// 

 

“And she got me an easel. And art supplies. And I - I only mentioned it once to her, you know.” 

 

“That you’re an artist?” 

 

Clarke rolls her eyes at her father, but her smile stays. “That I draw sometimes. I showed her some drawings and she complimented me and that was that. I mean, I thought that was that.” 

 

Her mind is still reeling from earlier. Unpacking the gifts in between laughing kisses and then her jaw dropping to the ground. 

 

_ “You remembered,” she whispered when her eyes found Lexa’s, serious and green.  _

 

_ “That’s not something I’d forget,” Lexa replied.  _

 

“Well, kid,” her dad says in the present, propping himself up higher and laughingly shooing her away when she tries to help him. The Santa hat he insisted she either bring for him or ‘don’t bother showing up at all’ starts to slide down, ready to fall off, and Clarke stifles a laugh when she reaches to straighten it for him. “She sounds like a keeper to me.” He blinks at the frown that takes over his daughter’s face. “Or… she doesn’t?” 

 

“Huh? No, I…” she trails off, unsure. Lexa does sound like a keeper. She is one. To her, she’s the only one she’s ever imagined a future with. Finn - Finn was easy. Comfortable. Expected. The thought of settling down with him, however, felt like an inevitability rather than a dream. 

 

Lexa’s a complete opposite. 

 

“What is it?” Her dad’s eyes, bluer than hers - definitely kinder than hers - study her, concerned. “Talk to me, Clarke. I know I’m just an old man, but someone once told me I gave the best advice,” he grins at her, squeezing her hand in his larger one. She’s missed this. That’s what she needed all this time, she realizes. 

 

Perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to tell him everything, because God knows she can’t carry it around by herself anymore. He’ll be so disappointed in her. But he’ll know what to do. How to do it. 

 

She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth, words not quite formed on her tongue, when her dad looks past her shoulders and his jaw muscles twitch in barely hidden annoyance. It’s funny how she doesn’t need to turn to know who’s joined them. 

 

“Mr. Collins,” her father states blankly. Finn chuckles at that, and Clarke still hasn’t turned. She doesn’t want to, but she knows she has to face him. He’s simply made it sooner than later. 

 

“Mr. Collins is my father.” Clarke’s dad doesn’t say anything, and Finn takes it as an invitation to step closer and offer his hand for Jake Griffin to shake. And Clarke knows her father. He’s a man with an honor, so he can’t reject it. 

 

She slowly rises to her feet, watching the quick, tense handshake before her dad drops his arm, still not saying anything. Finn clears his throat. “I wanted to congratulate you, sir. Your recovery is the best Christmas gift we could hope for.” He throws a glance at Clarke she can’t quite decipher, and dread coils in her chest when his eyes meet hers. He doesn’t look good. It’s her fault. 

 

“Thank you,” her father says in a clipped tone, and she doesn’t bother to hide her eye-rolling. Well, at least she knows where her famous stubbornness comes from. 

 

Finn hasn’t taken his eyes off her. “Clarke, can we talk?” He cuts to the chase today, doesn’t he? She sighs and squeezes her dad’s hand when he tries to stop her. 

 

“It’s okay,” she tells him quietly. “I’ll be right back.” 

 

Finn doesn’t exactly wait for her, but he’s not too ahead, either. He walks out of the room first, and she steps out right after, carefully closing the door and forcing herself to stay put when he turns to stare at her again. Forces herself not to flinch at the hurt in his eyes and the stubble on his chin. 

 

“You left,” he accuses her as soon as the door is closed. 

 

“You were drunk,” she counters. Coward. That’s not why she’s left. She needs to break up with him, she knows that. There are so many things she has to do to make it right. 

 

Finn shakes his head. It’s like he already knows, when he stares at her, anger and betrayal simmering in his gaze, and Clarke can’t help but feel a pang of relief. She’s an awful person for thinking this, but maybe it’ll make this easier. “There’s no reason for you to keep dating her,” he says, quieter this time. “Your dad is fine.” 

 

Hundred tubes attached to him and legs not able to walk yet. Fine. Right. “He’s still in the program.” Why is she avoiding the truth? She wants to shake herself, but the words are lodged in her throat, and she can’t get them out. 

 

Finn’s stare is still there, still as hard, as accusatory, and she feels herself grow angry. “Why are you here?” she fires. 

 

He laughs. The sound is hollow, dead, and she wants to curl up, away from it. “Why am I here,” he repeats slowly. “Why am I here, with my girlfriend, with her father who’s just woke up yesterday. That’s a good question.” 

 

Right now. Right here, this is her chance, and she has to take it. 

 

She thinks of the perfect morning Lexa’s given her. “I’m not your girlfriend anymore, Finn,” she says. Meeting his eyes is hard, but she makes herself do it, because it’s the least she can do. 

 

He shakes his head. “Yeah, I know, we had to take a break because of Lexa, but that’s the thing - you don’t have to do it anymore.” It’s like he’s willingly gone blind again. Clarke can see it in his eyes. One second, there’s pain from the truth she hasn’t voiced yet, and next, he blinks, and it’s gone. There’s only desperation. 

 

He’s pleading with her to lie, but she can’t. Not anymore. “I’m sorry, Finn,” she whispers. “I’m so - I’m so fucking sorry. You never should’ve met me. But this - this is the best thing I can do for you.” She swallows her tears down. “I’m not your girlfriend anymore because I’m - I’m not gonna stop seeing Lexa. Not because I have to. Because… Because I want to.” Admitting it to herself was overwhelming, at first. Admitting it to someone else is nothing but liberating. 

 

She can see that Finn doesn’t want to believe her, but there’s nothing more she can do. She’s already told him the truth. 

 

“Clarke,” he croaks. “You can’t do this. You can’t throw us away over  _ her. _ ” she watches his hair fall on his face as he sakes his head. “You don’t even - fuck, Clarke, you don’t even like girls!” 

 

Somehow, that was the last thing on her mind when she painfully came to a conclusion that she’s fallen for Lexa. But she’ll deal with it later. After everything's said and done and Lexa knows the truth. “I’m sorry, Finn.” she really can’t give him anything more than that. But, maybe - what if she can get him to understand, then -- “I never meant for it to happen,” she whispers. “But that’s not something I had any control over. I didn’t expect to have feelings for her, but I can’t - I am  _ not  _ sorry that I’m in love with her.” her voice comes out unexpectedly strong, and she revels in it. In her confident admission that doesn’t leave much room for misunderstanding. 

 

“You’re making a mistake.” 

 

She smiles. Thinks of Lexa’s shy barely-there smile and sparkling eyes. “You know, for the first time in my life, I’m sure I’m doing the right thing.” He doesn’t understand. Not yet. It’s foolish to hope he’d accept it easily. Not in a state he’s in right now. 

 

Finn sways, once, as if punched, before nodding. His bitter smile almost breaks her heart. Almost. But it’s not his to break anymore. She’s not sure it ever was. “Good luck,” he spits. “You know where to find me. I’m not gonna make it easy for you.” 

 

Being torn between feeling guilty and sorry for him sucks, but she swallows it down. “I really am sorry.” 

 

He doesn’t walk away as fast as she’d thought he would. Maybe he’s hoping she’ll call for him. Chase after him, perhaps - but those days are long gone. She only hopes he’ll let himself realize that. The whole conversations leaves a bad taste in her mouth. She did the right thing, but it all went wrong. 

 

She locks her jaw and slips back inside her dad’s room. Later. She’ll deal with it later. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me too much it'll all be alright

She tells her dad everything. It’s not something she has any control over, not after her run-in with Finn. Words spill from her, hurried, stumbling, and she knows she wouldn’t be able to stop if she tried. 

  


When she’s done, the room is almost completely silent, save for the steady whirs of the machines. Her dad hasn’t moved. Neither has she. Her eyes sting from unshed tears. It doesn’t take long for them to start falling, and when her father doesn’t try to wipe them away, they just fall harder. 

  


She’s contemplating standing up and quietly leaving the room when Jake finally speaks. “It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” he says in a scratchy voice. She helps him sit up when a coughing fit takes over his body - he must’ve gulped on too much air. 

  


He doesn’t push her away, and, even though she already knew he’d never do something like that, it still makes her feel a little less numb. “I’m sorry,” she blurts out, grasping his hand. 

  


He doesn’t shake her off. He only sighs and covers her hand on his with his other palm, large and warm. “Clarke,” he starts, and his voice is sad. “You did what you thought was right, but…” 

  


It wasn’t. She knows it wasn’t. 

  


Jake sits up straighter, obviously trying to gather his thoughts. “When are you going to tell Lexa everything?” He asks casually, searching her face.  _ ‘When’ _ , of course. Never  _ ‘if’ _ . She knows what he’s doing. 

  


She agrees. “Tonight,” Clarke whispers, finally finding the courage to look her father in the eye. There’s no disappointment. No anger. Only deep, endless sadness. Somehow, that’s even worse. “I’ll tell her tonight.” 

  


“I guess I’m a practice run?” He tries to smile. 

  


“You could say that.” 

  


Jake is silent for several long, painful moments, and Clarke takes that time to slowly breathe in and out, willing her tears to stop. Crying’s never helped anyone. Well, maybe it did. Maybe it’s a healthy response she should work on. But not right now. 

  


Right now, she realizes with startling, unsettling clarity, right now she needs to find Lexa. The urge to run to her and tell her everything is suddenly overwhelming. 

  


Everything inside her jumps when her dad speaks again. “Do you love her?” 

  


“Yes.” It hurts that he has to ask. Lexa would have to ask, too. Lexa would have a hard time believing that, just like her father right now. 

  


He nods. Purses his lips as he mulls something over; and his next words have her grabbing at the chair, sitting down. 

  


“Does she love you?” 

  


She feels - stuck. Searching for words that won’t come. Her mouth opens and closes as she helplessly blinks at him. 

  


_ Does she love you? _

  


Does she? Lexa’s proved herself to her over and over again. Helping her father. Being patient with her. Being so, so gentle with her; never once asking for anything in return while taking care of anything she could need. Choosing her over her friends and fancy dinners. 

  


_ ‘But,’  _ her inner voice muses,  _ ‘how can you be sure she’s only like this with you?’ _

  


They never discussed their exes. She has no idea what Lexa was like with them. She only knows she showered them with jewelry and fine clothes and then, a month, two months, half a year later, they were gone, hanging on the elbow of another. She could be -- 

  


_ No _ , she tells herself. Doubting Lexa’s feelings would be doubting Lexa, and she’s done with that. 

  


“Yes,” Clarke whispers. “She does.” 

  


Jake Griffin smiles at her, and it’s as hopeful as it is sad. She gets it. It’s scary when your kid falls in love. “You have a lot of work to do, kiddo,” he says quietly, but his smile is still there, and Clarke feels some of the weight in her chest disappear. “Tell her everything, the way you told me. She’ll be hurt. I don’t know Lexa at all, but I think she’s a good person. She might need some space, and you’ll have to give it to her. Let her come to a decision, and Clarke, I don’t want to lie to you, but it might not be the one you hope for.” 

  


Will those fucking tears stop? “I know.” 

  


“Nursing a broken heart is never easy,” he whispers, squeezing her hand. “No matter how much you prepare yourself, it will hurt. But I’ll be here. And Lexa seems like a reasonable girl,” his smile grows wider when he sees the corners of Clarke’s mouth twitch upwards through her tears. “Maybe she’ll be here, too. After some time.” 

  


She really wants to smash into him, plop down in his lap like she used to do when she was little, but it’s not something that’s either appropriate or safe in this situation. Clarke has to settle for awkwardly placing her head on his stomach and crying - again - when she feels her dad’s fingers slowly brush her hair. 

  


She’s still not sorry she’s done this. She’s sorry it was Lexa. But would they have met and fallen in love otherwise? 

  


She hopes in some other world, they do. 

  


“You’ll be here?” She asks her father, suddenly desperate for reassurance. 

  


His chuckles reverberate through her. “Clarke,” he softly calls, and she lifts her head, meeting his warm gaze. “You’ll always be my little girl. Of course I’ll be here.” 

  


Clarke can only lean in and place a soft kiss on his cheek, carefully leaning on his shoulder next. They are silent before he speaks again, in a laughing tone. “But let’s wait a little before saying anything to your mother, okay? I’d hate for you to lose your mom to a stroke.” 

  


“Dad!” 

  


// 

  


The thought that Lexa might not be at home hasn’t even crossed Clarke’s mind as she practically runs through the streets. Perhaps she should have called. Got a cab or rode the subway. 

  


But Lexa’s place is near the hospital, there’s not much sense in driving there since she’d outwalk this horrible traffic any day of the week, and… There’s something in running till lungs burn and heart plays staccato notes against ribcage, desperate to escape and fly. 

  


There’s something in running after the girl you love. Feeling like that guy in all the movies you’ve seen, except Clarke’s not a guy and there’s seriously a tragic shortage of cinema where girl gets the girl. But she’ll think about that later.Maybe she’ll discuss that with Lexa once everything’s out in the open and she’s forgiven her and they are sitting on the porch of her childhood house, warm blanket on their shoulders and warm cider in their hands. Maybe. Definitely. 

  


She yells a quick ‘sorry!’ to a guy she narrowly avoids bumping into, and there’s a rude yell back that she doesn’t hear. Stores blur by. Magazine stands and hot-dog corners and people following her with surprised eyes as she pushes with her legs. Faster. Faster, she thinks, round the corner, past the bakery, across the street. The little flower shop - she slows down, but no, Lexa doesn’t like flowers, and this is not a situation for them, either. 

  


Maybe she should get a bottle of scotch, though. Too late - Lexa’s apartment building is just a block away, and she can’t wait anymore. It’s the weirdest feeling - simultaneously dreading and longing for the moment to come. 

  


Because - yes, she’s about to tell Lexa everything, and it might be the scariest thing she’s ever done - but she’s also about to tell her she loves her. 

  


Lexa, she thinks, and bursts out into the hallway from the elevator that’s too goddamn slow. The landlord should really look into it - a building this fancy has to have one, right? Although Lexa’s told her it’s mainly owners that live here. 

  


There’s a tiny possibility that she’s stalling. Maybe. Definitely. But she also needs to calm her heart and breathing down if she wants to speak actual words, and that’s what she does, hands on her knees before Lexa’s door. In. Out. Just a second. Another second. Only a second before she raises her hand and knocks in time with her heartbeat-- 

  


The door flies open just as she finally stands upright. “Oh,” Anya voices her exact thought. “It’s you.” She cocks her head to the side, impeccable blonde locks falling on her neck. “You’re loud, Miss Griffin.” 

  


_ ‘Anya expects me tonight,’  _ Clarke remembers Lexa’s apologetic words, but she’s too far gone to care. Anya will have to wait. 

  


She pushes past her, hurriedly entering the apartment. “Sorry,” she breathes in Anya’s general direction, not sounding sorry at all. “I need to talk to Lexa. It’s -- I really need to talk to her.” 

  


She doesn’t see Anya’s lips stretch into a slow, dangerous smile. “What a coincidence,” she drawls behind Clarke. “ _ We, _ too, really need to talk to you. Miss Griffin.” 

  


“Clarke,” she throws over her shoulder with mild annoyance. “It’s Clarke. Where’s Lexa?” She’s not in the living room, that much she can see clearly. Maybe, kitchen? Anya’s here and it looks like they were talking business, so her study, then? Clarke wonders how rude it would be of her to barge in there. 

  


“I hate to sound so cliche, but I do believe we will be the ones to ask questions.” Something in Anya’s tone - danger simmering underneath - finally penetrates the desperate haze Clarke’s in. She turns to face Anya, and upon seeing her expression, she realizes she really, really doesn’t like it. 

  


Fear coils under her heart before she can actually process what’s going on. She knows it’s something bad. It’s enough. “Where’s Lexa?” She asks again, voice rising. There’s an insane thought flashing through her head, and she’s too slow to throw it away. Lexa’s hurt. She did something -- they did something--

  


Anya’s expression, smug and smirking, shatters, and there’s rage spilling through the cracks, making Clarke flinch. “That’s none of your fucking business,” she snaps, practically jumping to Clarke in two long strides. “After we’re done with you, you’ll never--” 

  


“That’s  _ enough _ .” 

  


Lexa. 

  


There’s another set of footsteps behind Clarke who can’t quite take her eyes off of Anya’s dark ones. “Anya,” Lincoln says next, quieter, softer than his sister. 

  


It’s one long, excruciatingly silent second before Anya takes an angry step back and Clarke can finally breathe. 

  


They are all here. Anya, Lincoln - is Indra here, too? They are here, with Lexa, and Clarke - Clarke’s suddenly terrified of turning around. Lexa’s there. Lexa’s standing behind her, Lincoln by her side, and Anya doesn’t even try not to look like a rabid wolf as she watches Clarke through narrowed eyes, teeth bared. Ready to tear her throat out. 

  


_ ‘I’ll be there to watch you fall,’  _ Anya’s low, threatening growl from so long ago flashes through Clarke’s hazy mind before it becomes crystal clear. 

  


She’s too late. 

  


She needs to explain. Lexa will listen. She has to. She’ll choose her. She always chooses her, she’ll-- 

  


“I think you should go, Miss Griffin.” Lincoln’s voice is quiet, but it still blooms throughout the apartment. There’s low, deep rumbling in his words, and to Clarke, it sounds like a growl. 

  


“No.” 

  


Clarke blinks. The trembling word didn’t come from her, even though that’s exactly what she wants to scream until her voice is nothing but a weathered whisper. It didn’t come from Anya, either. The adviser only closes her eyes, letting out an inaudible curse under her breath. 

  


Lexa. It came from Lexa. “No,” she says again, shaky, and Clarke wants to clutch her head, slump to the ground at how  _ shattered  _ she sounds. “She’ll stay to tell us… To tell  _ me  _ that it’s -- that…” There’s a hitch, a sharp intake of breath, and something that sounds too much like a sob for Clarke to handle. 

  


Lincoln steps in front of Lexa when she tries to run up to her, an impulse to hold her close imploding in her chest. He’s even taller than she remembers, standing strong with an unbuttoned collar of his black shirt that’s stretched across his tense chest muscles. But his eyes - his eyes are just as cold, except this time there’s no politeness in his glare. Somehow, he still doesn’t look threatening, entirely unlike Anya. He’s protective. Careful. She thinks that if she were to try and push him away, he wouldn’t budge. 

  


Lexa is the one to place her hand on his shoulder, silently asking him to move. After locking his eyes with Clarke one last time, he does, and in his gaze, there is a warning. 

  


A part of Clarke that she hates only chuckles bitterly. There’s no sense in warning her, is there? She broke her. There’s no doubt she did when Lincoln finally steps away, and Clarke can feel her heartstrings snap when Lexa’s face comes into view. Pale. She’s gone so pale. 

  


She used to imagine this exact situation a thousand times. Played it in her head like a sick, twisted movie, each time with a different setting and a different ending. But all of them had lexa standing tall and cold, her face an unmoving mask and her words calculated and precise. Lexa of her nightmares is cut from marble, and her voice drips with freezing rage. 

  


This Lexa is so, so much worse. 

  


This Lexa is the furthest thing from precise and cold. This Lexa has trembling hands and trembling lips; this Lexa struggles to breathe through tears that haven’t fallen yet from her bloodshot eyes. This is the woman who woke Clarke up with small kisses and sweet touches. This is the woman who cooked her breakfast and took her to parks to feed ducks. Who still hasn’t learned how to skate properly and who isn’t ashamed of falling onto her ass before Clarke, rewarding her soft, melodic laughter. This is Lexa. Her Lexa. 

  


_ Was _ , Clarke thinks, numb; this  _ was  _ her Lexa. 

  


No. She needs to get a grip. She can save them. “Lexa,” she tries to ignore stabbing pain when Lexa flinches at her using her name. “What’s going on?” 

  


“Unbelievable,” Anya roars behind her. “She has the fucking audacity to ask--” 

  


“Lexa,” she decides to ignore everyone but her, and Anya’s mouth shuts, most likely with shock at being cut off. “Please. Whatever it is, I promise you I’ll explain. I’ll tell you everything. That’s why I’m here.” 

  


She sees it, then. A flicker of something in those big, wet green eyes. For a second, Lexa looks lost and open, ready to trust Clarke to lead her anywhere. For a second, Clarke’s almost ready to believe they’ll make it out of there. 

  


Lexa shuts down faster than she can blink. “I think you got everything you were here for,” she says quietly. Whatever was in her eyes is gone; instead, there’s a sea of hurt. “Here,” her hand thrusts forward, clutching something. Paper. No. Photos. “See anything familiar?” 

  


There’s not much sense in delaying the inevitable, and Clarke accepts them with a falling heart. Christmas night, she recognizes immediately. She’s leaving her apartment, looking like she’s in a hurry. Her hands shakily take another picture. She’s parking outside Finn’s building. Another. Finn’s window. He never did invest in curtains. She’s kissing him. It’s him kissing her, but it looks like she’s kissing him. Another. She’s running out of the building, rattled. 

  


If that’s all they have, she could try to explain it. If she wanted to lie her way out, that’s it. 

  


Lexa’s looking at her. She can see how much effort it takes, but her gaze is unwavering. She’s waiting, and so Clarke speaks. “I didn’t sleep with him that night. Whoever followed me has to know I pushed him away and left.” 

  


She doesn’t miss the way Lexa swallows when she says ‘ _ that night’ _ , but Anya pipes up again, not letting Lexa say whatever it is she wanted to. “I told you she wasn’t going to tell us the truth,” she scoffs, and, judging by the sounds, plops down on Lexa’s couch. “Tell us, Miss Griffin - was that the only time you went to see your boyfriend while pretending to date Lexa?” 

  


It hurts. God, it hurts when she puts it like this, but what hurts more is Lexa’s face as it crumbles. “No,” Clarke says, not taking her eyes off Lexa even as tears start to fall from them. “It wasn’t, no, but Lexa, you have to know I didn’t -- I, I stopped it when I realized I had feelings for you.” 

  


Looking back, Clarke wishes she’d said anything but that. She wishes she’d taken some time to think. To realize she was being played by people blinded by their love for Lexa. 

  


“God, Griffin, do you ever stop fucking  _ lying _ ?” Anya almost yells from her spot before coming closer to them, where Lexa and Clarke have locked gazes and Lincoln hovers near, ready to throw Clarke out whenever Lexa tells him to. “This was your final test and you failed it. Congratulations,” she hears Anya’s venom-filled whisper near her ear. “This isn’t about your fucking boyfriend - newly unemployed, by the way, good luck with that. This is about your brilliant scheme.” Anya laughs. Lexa continues to stand there, eyes searching Clarke’s face. “I have to hand it to you. You almost had it, Miss Griffin. You were so close. If it weren’t for your idiot boyfriend barging in on you two and exposing himself, I would’ve never hired a PI to trail after you. Because, come on. That’s too much of a coincidence - your ex is our employee. And I think you remember, Miss Griffin, that I don’t believe in coincidences.” 

  


When Clarke throws a sharp, disbelieving glance at her and turns to look at Lexa again, she shakes her head. “Lexa didn’t know. She would’ve thrown a fit if she knew we were spying on her precious girl. Even after I told her time and time again how suspicious it was.” Anya chuckles. Goes into the kitchen and pours something in a glass while the three of them stand there, frozen. “You’re a smart girl, though. You cut your ties with him and all I had was one phone conversation - not enough to convince this one over here that you’re a snake. You’re smart,” she hears Anya take a sip. “But I’m patient. And you gave me one hell of a Christmas gift. That, I could do something with. And then! Then, Miss Griffin, your boyfriend does you one better! I have to say, that conversation you had with him today was almost heartbreaking. Oscar worthy, nothing more, nothing less. I can’t blame you, though. He is a little dull; it’s no wonder you finally kicked him to the curb. And, hell - what better way to wound a man than pretend you love another?” 

  


“That’s not why I said that,” Clarke finally finds her voice, growling at Anya. Perhaps she’s not in a position to do that, but she doesn’t care. Lexa still hasn’t moved. “They must have recorded me,” she says to her, hurriedly. “You heard me. You know it’s true. They -- did they record me and my father?” 

  


“What? No,” Anya scoffs. “My man had all the juicy details we needed.” 

  


Fuck. Of course he didn’t, and even if he did, Anya wouldn’t let Lexa hear that since, unwittingly or not, she’s blatantly framing her. Half-framing her. She needs to talk to Lexa alone if she wants a chance to salvage their relationship. “Lexa,” she tries again, taking a small step closer and letting out a breath when neither her nor Lincoln object. “I know how it looks like. This is all so wrong. I was -- I ran here to tell you everything.” When Lexa doesn’t say anything, she has to fight against her urge to scream. “You saw the way I came in,” she begs. “You  _ heard _ me say I’m in--” 

  


“Don’t.” One tear makes its way down Lexa’s cheek, leaving a clear, wet trail behind. “Tell me this isn’t true.” Her voice is a little stronger. Demanding. But Clarke knows Lexa - knows that it’s the real her she’s been uncovering this whole time - and she can hear something else underneath. A plea. Begging her to say this isn’t what it is. Perhaps, deep down, Lexa’s biggest wish is for her to lie. 

  


But she can’t. “I can’t.” A beat. “The plan was to seduce you and make you fall for me so you’d pay for my father’s treatment. There was nothing else I could think of at the time.” She blinks her tears away. “It all went to hell when I fell i--” 

  


“Enough.” Lexa interrupts her for the second time, taking a step back. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

  


“I’m not leaving until I’ve said it!” Clarke’s surprised at her own outburst. Desperate times, desperate measures, she thinks; and she’s never been this desperate for someone to hear her out in her entire life. 

  
She can’t lose her. Right now, when she’s on the brink of doing exactly that, the realization is strikingly clear, like a summer sky. She can’t lose her. She’s not sure she’ll survive this. Not like this. It was never supposed to be like this. 

  


Even though Lexa’s gaze grows dark, Clarke stands her ground, unmoving. She doesn’t need to take a step back. She knows Lexa would never hurt her. Lexa probably thinks that makes her weak. 

  


Clarke thinks that makes her the strongest person she’s ever met. 

  


“Fine.” The word is uttered through teeth. “Leave us.” 

  


“Goddammit -- Lexa, don’t be an idiot.” Anya grabs her elbow, and Lexa does nothing to shrug her off. “You’ve been through this before,” she says, quieter. Softer. “You know what she’s like. Why are you doing this? What makes her any different?” 

  


Clarke thinks everyone in this room knows the answer, and her heart leaps at that, fluttering in her chest. Maybe, she thinks madly. Maybe-- 

  


Lexa doesn’t answer. She looks Anya in the eye, and, after a brief staredown, Anya scowls and lets go of her arm. “Fine,” she says, defeated. “Call me when you need us.” 

  


She doesn’t spare a glance at Clarke as she storms out of the apartment. Lincoln is next. Unlike Anya, he leaves calmly, and he says his goodbyes. They are a little unorthodox, but given the situation, she gets where he’s coming from. 

  


“If she didn’t love you so much,” he whispers when he nears her, a puff of air against her ear making her shudder, “I’d advise you get the  _ hell  _ out of my city.” His cold eyes land on her one last time, and then, with a wry smirk that both surprises and unsettles her, he’s gone too, nodding at Lexa who doesn’t nod back. 

  


“They won’t touch you,” she hears her say when she turns to throw a glance at the door. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” 

  


“I’m not.” This is the least of her worries right now. The only thing on her mind is this new, broken Lexa she doesn’t have the power to mend. 

  


But she wouldn’t be Clarke Griffin if she didn’t try. She decides to start with the most important thing. “I  _ love  _ you,” she whispers, ignoring the fresh tears that spring to her eyes when Lexa shakes her head no. “I didn’t see it coming, but it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” She swallows, tasting salt. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And -- I don’t know if Anya was saying the truth when she said she didn’t get me and my dad on tape. I wish she did, because… Right after Finn left, I told him everything. I told him how in love with you I was. Am. I told him I was going to tell you next. And then, I left, and I ran all the way here to do that.” She takes another small step forward, careful, afraid of scaring Lexa away. “I’ve never felt this way about a woman. About  _ anyone. _ I was trying to convince myself it was nothing, at first. Then, I told myself it was purely physical. I admitted I wanted you when we had sex for the first time, but I think -- I think I wanted you the second I laid my eyes on you. And then -- you were so… You were so  _ you, _ ” she laughs through tears, fingers itching to reach out and touch Lexa’s damp cheek. “All the time. I never stood a chance. I don’t know when I fell in love with you, and it doesn’t matter. I just know I love you, and I don’t… I don’t think I’ll ever stop.” 

  


_ ‘Please. Please believe me. At least consider it. Push me away now but -- don’t forget us. _ ’

  


“Clarke,” Lexa says -- almost begs as she stumbles back, away from her, and she knows she should give her space, but it’s like there’s a rope tying them together.  _ Wherever she goes, I follow _ . “You used me,” she says dully. Childlike. Hurt and lost. 

  


Her fault, all of it - her damn fault. “At first,” she scrambles to say, desperation seeping through her words. “I’m not justifying this, I -- I made a huge mistake, but everything else was true.” She tries to take Lexa’s hand, and when she doesn’t recoil, bliss spreads through her, head to toe. Their fingers entwine, and she lets out a shuddering, relieved sigh. “Our Christmas, and our dates, and our nights together. It was true. I swear, Lexa.” When she doesn’t say anything, she steps even closer. If she takes another, their noses would touch. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving my love for you,” she whispers, watching green eyes flutter closed, as if their owner is in pain. 

  


She never sees Lexa’s kiss coming, rough and punishing; but her first instinct is to answer. Press close to her, blindly stumble forward into her arms that hoist her up in the air and settle her on her hips. Her body responds to Lexa even when she’s a little slow to do so. Her legs hug her slim waist, and the shock fades as she loses herself in the kiss, feeling the wall against her back and the reassuring heat of Lexa’s body against her front. 

  


It might not be the best idea, but she doesn’t have enough willpower to stop this. “Lexa,” she practically sobs when warm lips leave hers to trail hot kisses down her neck. “I love you. I love you -- I’m not letting you go, Lexa, please…Please, don’t leave me,  _ please-- _ ” She’s only half-aware of what she’s saying. For a second, she thinks she’s about to go crazy. Lexa’s still there, hands gripping her thighs, hard enough to leave a bruise, and she welcomes it. Lets it wash over her as she grinds against her, cradling Lexa’s face in both hands and dropping kisses wherever she can. Lexa’s fingers undo her jeans, and she gasps when she feels a hand thrust down, probing at her slit. She’s not wet enough, and the feeling of Lexa’s fingers dragging up and down her dry folds makes her hiss in discomfort; but before she can tell her to wait, she’s suddenly on the floor, clutching at the wall behind her to stay upright. 

  


Lexa’s backing away from her, and green eyes are filled with so many emotions, from guilt to despair, that Clarke wants to wail. 

  


“Lexa,” she chokes out. “No, please -- it’s okay.” She doesn’t know whom she’s trying to reassure, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it. With shaking legs, she pushes herself off the wall to approach Lexa. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Lexa, please -- please let me make this right. Please.” 

  


In that moment, she thinks she finally truly sees why and how Lexa’s managed to secure the spot of a CEO this young and for so long. She looks at the floor, and everything is still for one long moment before she looks up again. And in her eyes, there is only green. “Your father, of course, remains in the program till the end. Hopefully, he makes a full recovery. I’ve seen his results. They are very promising.” Clarke’s gut coils and freezes while Lexa keeps talking, voice monotone. “I’m sure Mr. Collins will manage to find another job, no matter how much I wish to see him fail. I’m also sure you understand I don’t want to see you ever again.” 

  


The last heartstring tenses and breaks, and Clarke feels her heart fall to the floor. “Lexa--” Just a second ago, she had her in her arms. “I can’t lose you.” 

  


“You never had me,” Lexa states simply. She’s not cold - obviously not warm, either. She’s void of any emotion, and Clarke’s scared. “The Clarke I had constructed in my head had me. Not you.” She blinks, once, green eyes trailing over her face. “You say you care about me,” she continues, and her voice drops to a soft whisper. “If that’s true, you’ll walk out of that door, and you won’t try to see me again.” There’s a crack in her facade, and Clarke catches the sight of her trembling lip before Lexa once again composes herself. 

  


She expects Lexa to snap any second now; to start screaming at her to get out, get out,  _ get the fuck out, I don’t want to see you again _ \-- but Lexa only looks at her, gaze unreadable, and then, she’s gone. The sound of footsteps fades as she nears a room - her study, Clarke thinks - and then, there’s nothing but silence. 

  


There’s nothing left to do. 

  


_ ‘You’ll walk out of that door, and you won’t try to see me again.’ _

  


_ ‘She might need some space, and you’ll have to give it to her.’ _

  


Clarke zips her jeans up, wipes her tears, and silently closes the door behind her as she walks away from the best thing and the biggest mistake of her life, simultaneously. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

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